


Dream End Cycle

by technocouture



Series: The Cycle [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Cosmic Science, Developing Relationship, Dramatization, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, M/M, Weaponized singing, futuristic setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 82,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technocouture/pseuds/technocouture
Summary: 3001. The scientific breach into the Cycle phenomenon has transformed the world. Order of life and nature are regulated by cycles — supernatural constants sustaining the balance of the universe, and its reality. Manifesting primarily during sleep, cycles can be possessed and controlled by “songs”, a vocalized link in the form of a melody unique to a Cycle’s host.In the megapolis of Seoul-D, citizens sleep, citizens wake. Stronger Cyclists pull, and the weaker fall in.Kyungsoo and Jongin meet again in the heart of the rebellion.





	1. The Eve

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fic so I'm really nervous, but I hope everything goes well!  
> also I apologize in advance for my English—it isn't my first language .-.
> 
> enjoy!!

There’s the faint beating of a heart before he wakes — _thud-thud-thud_ — and for a blissful moment, the nightmare comes to an end. In the distance echoes a siren-like screech that captures the sound, engulfing it whole, and the black space of his slumber explodes with the music, _someone’s_ music.

The green ceiling of the bedroom remains framed in Kyungsoo’s field of view as he strains to keep his eyes open — the rapid throbbing in his chest an urgent forewarning of something, _something_ that escapes his memory. Muffled eruptions of voices and sounds of grating metal spur him to his side, tearing his gaze toward the crystal window of his bedroom, where the yellow smoke of the bolt-bombs clouds and dovetails in the panes. Kyungsoo’s hand springs into a spontaneous motion and he blindly grasps the chalice on his nightstand. Unblinking, he tenses in anticipation and, a frightening second later, the unmistakable blast of a rocket reverbs across the residential complex, the tremors rocking the furniture. His fingers tighten around the glass as his wrist slides over the marble, arm tottering over with the rest of his body, droplets spilling over his hand. Outside, the screams break out.

At the foot of the bed he finds a dark-haired man, face pale as the moon and eyes twinkling like opal, standing motionless. The stranger opens his mouth, slowly, and in the bedroom resonates a series of descending notes, sung softly, yet formidably sound. 

Kyungsoo has no time to react: the pull is devastating.

 

—

 

The email concerning the institution ceremony arrives in Kyungsoo’s address box three days prior the reported date, and is sent to him by Junmyeon instead of the market’s administration. It comes in a series of exchanges between him and his mentor regarding the affiliations of their Pharmaceutical department, and what started out as a detail in an anecdote over dinner on a faraway evening has come to his friend pulling strings inside the distribution station in favor of Kyungsoo’s interests.

Attached with the invitation and personal code stamp for the registration is an individual image file labelled “Transferring Seoul-D East”, and an additional message under the catalog that Kyungsoo saves in his text bank before reading.   

> _Kyungsoo,_
> 
> _I send you herewith the list of new workers, transferring from Seoul-D South’s faculty, who will be instituted with our own this Sunday. As you’ll see in my annotations, your friend that we’ve spoken about is among those to enter the Engineering department (Bionics, station code 24-7G), that our pharmaceutical division works with. I’ve contacted their faculty and asked for his file, along with the information for his transfer. You have corresponding schedules._
> 
> _If you’d like, I can forward you his number information, and arrange for us to pick him up at the Interorbital Station. Notify me as soon as you can._
> 
> _With love,_ _  
>  _Junmyeon_ _

The image file that downloads is a screencap of a single page out of a registry, with twenty or so names sectioned in multiple blocs. Underlined in the middle with purple marker is the name “Jongin, KIM”, between three others grouped under the title “Bionics Engineering 24-7G”.

Kyungsoo’s eyes linger on his screen; he swipes left and right though he knows there’s no other page, then enlarges the image so the name occupies all the space displayed, and all the space in his head. His thoughts are on the man whose name he reads on the page, whose name was searched and marked and delivered to him so simply. He feels, in all honesty, errant, and vaguely apprehensive of the news.

 _The search for the disappearing man_ begins four years ago, an evening at a sushi lounge in an exclusive neighborhood frequented only by the elite or, as it turned out, one executive coordinator with old money. Kyungsoo's first meeting with Junmyeon is premature and unfortunate; their paths cross by accident in the parlor where Kyungsoo is greeting his new colleagues of the Pharmaceutical department, until he’s elbowed unexpectedly and spills his champagne on the man sitting behind him, the man whose long wool coats and distinct ash pink hair identify him as no other than his department's distinguished coordinator. Junmyeon is as cordial as he is handsome, and in a curious gesture of grace, invites both Kyungsoo and the culprit of the incident — one friend Sehun — to a private dinner in one of the city’s most upper-class sectors.

Junmyeon is two years older than Kyungsoo and, before he becomes the secretary of his department, is a high-ranking coordinator who’s already deeply rooted in the market's business, owing to his family's extensive line of investments and patronage. Young, rich, and most of all kind; Junmyeon couples the lavender and orange in the skies, paints the fantasy of perfection.

Kyungsoo and him start the evening on the rooftop of the upscale restaurant, chatting idly for second impressions. He takes notice of the mesmerized look the man gives the skyline, and learns later through the years that Junmyeon holds a preference for rooftop settings, and harbors a strange love for heights in general. “I eat here for the view.” Junmyeon likes to talk, and likes to make jokes mostly — they aren't to Kyungsoo's taste, but he finds the habit sweet. His voice, also, is _sweet_ : he talks calmly and soundly, and Kyungsoo catches him humming often, a pleasant air he’ll come to recognize later on as Junmyeon's _song_.

He’s taken by surprise when asked if he sings. "No." Junmyeon tells him he likes his voice. The city lights blink as they watch the sun sink, warm air of the night holding their comfortable conversation. 

Sehun arrives forty minutes past the scheduled time, wearing new shades and powder lipstick, and an impish look on his smooth, cherubic face. Sehun is training in the Engineering department in the faculty, aiming for a position in fabric specialization, and he points at the different pieces of Junmyeon's evening attire the second after he settles at their table. Junmyeon likes to talk — Sehun likes to talk more.

 _The search for the disappearing man_ originates in three sequences. First, Junmyeon looks away from the horizon, absorbed by Sehun's soft voice:

"Do you sing?"

“No,” he replies, “but Kyungsoo does.”

The look Junmyeon gives him is _scathing_ , in its own gentle and innocent way. “Does he now?”

“No—I don’t. Not really,” he averts his gaze. “ _I used to_.”

“And why not anymore?”

Second, Sehun starts to talk about another boy who lived in their same sector when they were children, before the reforms. “We could never sleep, and there were always the bombs in the city. So Kyungsoo-hyung used to sing for us, and we’d all fall asleep together.”

Junmyeon’s interest grows instantly, “You—all of you? At the same time?” Sehun nods into his food, unaware of the undertone in his question. “Then they finally came with the regulations and cleaned our sector, and he moved away.”

There’s a pause before Junmyeon resumes, "You must be a skilled Cyclist," he says to Kyungsoo, and gives him a bright smile. "Don't worry, I’m not one of those radical officials or crazy fans. I am however curious about cycles, given our research department. The brain and body are a mystery, just like the rest of the world.”

Kyungsoo meets with Junmyeon many more times after that first evening, mostly for work, and with or without Sehun. They grow close, become friends over coworkers, and there are times Kyungsoo feels he’s known Junmyeon just as long as he’s known Sehun, but never more. 

The _search_ truly takes flight during Kyungsoo's third year of training, and it’s instigated during a lockdown inside a department lounge. It’s the night of an institution ceremony once more, and due to reschedulings it lands on the date of Kyungsoo's birthday. The ceremony is cut short by a thunderstorm, and Junmyeon leads them to an empty floor in the faculty, where they celebrate on their own.

Kyungsoo is exhausted as well as inebriated beyond judgement, alongside his mentor and Sehun, loud and indefatigable Sehun who gracelessly challenges them to a singing competition to see who can put each other to sleep first — all about a video he saw on the web — and it is, without a doubt, one of the worst hangovers of Kyungsoo's life.

Like an album, events are contained in pictures, images with supplementary audio in Kyungsoo’s memories: Junmyeon with his tousled hair, beautiful head spinning from the alcohol; Kyungsoo himself stumbling with his cardigan wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, sputtering in insistence to Sehun’s taunting — “I’ll sing for you! _I’ll sing for you!_ You wanna’ hear? I’ll sing!”; Junmyeon singing like he’s breathless and at the same time like he could never stop, holding his breath and swimming in his music, romantic voice forever caught on his tongue; the man attempting to corner Sehun like an animal after the younger swipes his glass, stomping and calling relentlessly, until they bump into each other and Sehun cheers “ _I can do this all night long, baby!_ ” in a carefreeness spurred on by his drunken daze, throws his diamond blond hair back, flaunting the long line of his neck and Junmyeon sobers all of a sudden, _stunned_ , an expression of surprise, wonder, and alarm altogether — Kyungsoo thinks this is where the infatuation begins.

In the morning they wake at the same time, Sehun and him pressed against Junmyeon on the loveseat, glass bottles and boxes of sushi abandoned on the carpeted floor. Kyungsoo isn’t sure who pulled them awake, but he comes round to a forgotten tune floating in his head, one which he continues to hum for absent time, a relic of the past.

Junmyeon tells him a few days later, one exhausting afternoon working late in the office, that _his voice is like the earth_. Kyungsoo finds Junmyeon to be the most vulnerable at these times, and he’s possessed by a familiar feeling of careful affection, of protectiveness. Junmyeon talks about a breathing resonance in his voice, and then a powerful _song_. Low, light, breathing life — that it feels like _flowering_ , and embracing a cloud in the sky.

Kyungsoo is so stirred by his words, he begins to sing to him, sing to him what’s left of his _song_ , or what’s becoming of it. He summons what he remembers of Sehun and Kai covered under the stars, the whispered theme of sleep over that of the broken city's. Eyes closing, eyes opening. A lullaby in the dark.

“You started singing because of them, and you stopped singing because of them, in a way.” Junmyeon’s steel eyes focus on him — he looks pensive. “Kai and Sehun must mean a lot to you.”

Kyungsoo’s gaze locks onto Junmyeon’s. “They were all I had.” In the dirt and blood, fog and smog, in sickness, poverty, anguish — Sehun and Jongin he loved with all his young soul, with all his childhood song. He sang for them, before he could sing for himself, before he could sing for Junmyeon now, and before the world could make his song into something else than the music in his heart.

And third: “Do you ever think of finding him again?”

It takes them an entire nine months to simply get Kai's name. It’s collected from the little Kyungsoo could assemble from his memories: their old sector number, Jongin's departure for Seoul-D South, his small robot toy, and love for tinkering — the last item unexpectedly being the key to his person. 

Like the city’s sector beacons Jongin blinks in and out of Kyungsoo’s memories, surfacing in a light, then leaving without a trace, without a shadow, and like the motors in the streets he comes and goes in his conversations, swerves here and there, vanishing under and over — Jongin never stops moving. Even when Junmyeon starts to look for him in the system’s database, he’s continuously _going_ , one sector to another, one transfer after another, and it makes tracking him sport. Junmyeon flies through mountains of data, and record after record he tears apart countless sectors down to their units. Jongin was part of a wave of migrants in constant transit through the city, which made Junmyeon's search infinitely more complicated given he was nameless. He traced those fitting with Jongin's age and residence background, no less than a hundred names, numbers, identities. Citizens of all faces took Jongin's and for a time he was Seoul-D manifested — indomitable and fleeting.

“ _Look at these photo-graphs_ ,” Junmyeon trills in Kyungsoo’s ear on a rainy morning of September. Displayed on the monitor are three slides filled with rows of standard-issued identification icons. “Batch I narrowed down after Sector 9-C last week. Do you recognize any of them?”

It’s as disconcerting as it is incredible that Kyungsoo’s eyes land almost directly onto Jongin’s picture, the fourth row, ninth from the right. His gaze slides and for a moment everything is obscured outside the face of this— _man_. It’s him, without a doubt. Jongin is a man and Kyungsoo sees in his captured face Kai’s apparition, his blue eyes and curved lips ghosting over those of the new engineer apprentice — young, beautiful, passionate, _Jongin_. Kyungsoo feels his spirit; Junmyeon feels the tremble.

At times it seems like Jongin teleported; the addresses Junmyeon acquires are more than often accompanied with notes for a relocation. “I’m stalking a man,” he admits. “ _For you_.”

“I never asked you such a thing,” Kyungsoo retorts.

Jongin is found in temporary residence at a boarding house in the medical sector of Seoul-D South, and like most miracles in nature he’s found in detail, carefully sprung and unfolded all at once — blooming. Jongin comes to existence just as the idea of him retreats into the thought. Kyungsoo can meet the boy of his past, while bidding farewell to him at the same time. He’s to meet Jongin, not Kai, and he’s to meet a man who Jongin himself is to meet as well — a person of both present and past with only a bond for measured time, with only the print of feelings for recognition. And Kyungsoo sees the encounter. Two men fleeing history. 

> _Junmyeon,_
> 
> _You mean we_ now _have corresponding schedules._ _  
> _Thank you in advance. If you manage, I am thinking of having a welcome party for him — small, however. Sehun will be there.__
> 
> _All my best,_ _  
>  _Kyungsoo_ _

Junmyeon’s next email comes in one hour later, containing only a phone number and the words _“Knock yourself out!”._ Kyungsoo thinks he’ll abandon the desire if he prolongs the wait, so he wastes no time sending Kai— _Jongin_ a new greeting. But after years of being apart, what does he say? Kyungsoo’s never been with Jongin at all, only Kai, and yet the two are locked together in the same image. Jongin was only ever talked about in something of a likeness, an impression — the memory of Kai and the invention of Jongin.

He types and erases at a pace of stress, indecision; just like Junmyeon, Kyungsoo is stalling for second impressions. So he meets Jongin with an unidentified intention, a promise of presence:

 

_Hello Kai_

_Guess who’s got that power_

_: )_

 

Kyungsoo deems the text a mistake the second after he presses send, heat creeping up his face and reprimands swirling in front of his eyes. He hasn’t seen this person in over fifteen years and has only come to a sense of affinity for him from an exhausting, four-year nation-wide _hunt_ for the man. Kyungsoo fears he might still be connected to the idea of Jongin rather than who he really is, despite the fact that he simply _doesn’t know_ Jongin, and what he thinks of him is a fabrication of his expectations, a transfiguration from his memories.

The anxiety that settles inside Kyungsoo quickly turns into panic, and he presses for Sehun’s number on the call log.

“Hey?” comes the man’s voice through the device.

“Hey, am I interrupting you?”

“No, what’s up?”

Kyungsoo activates the speaker and goes through his box again, forwarding the email to him. “So, Junmyeon’s found Jongin and he’s transferring for the ceremony on Sunday. I got his—”

“Woah, _wait_ —he’s coming here? Where?”

“I sent you Junmyeon’s email, he’s going in Engineering at our market. I got his number and texted him hi. I don’t know if he’s going to remember, but I went with ‘Kai’ and that thing we always chanted before getting into our game—the power thing.”

“Oh, I totally remember that! _We got that power!_ It was the best thing, Kyungsoo, I loved that! He’ll remember for sure.”

Kyungsoo smiles fondly at his enthusiasm, hearing their old cheer, “Well, I hope he does. I was thinking about having a party for him after we pick him up from the Interorbital. Are you down?”

“We’re picking him up?” Sehun exclaims. “He’s really coming back here? Oh my god, I can’t believe it, we’re really going to see him again? Kai?”

“I have to confirm with Junmyeon, but if everything goes as planned, then yes. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

Sehun is more than eager to throw Jongin a welcome party and brilliantly proposes they organize a treasure hunt inside Kyungsoo’s complex apartment — a mise en scène of their childhood play. Some guilt heckles Kyungsoo as he notes how much ahead he’s planning for Jongin — his ride, his party — while the man himself hasn’t even given him a reply yet.

“This is going to be great. It’ll really be like old times, but so much better. Thanks again, Kyungsoo-hyung! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Thank you Sehun, and I—wait, what’s tomorrow?” And Kyungsoo can hear Sehun freeze, can feel his breath turning to static.

“ _Uh_ —” There’s a kind of silent wind that Sehun blows around himself and other people, a way of perception from his part, and Kyungsoo, after knowing him for so many years, has learned to sense the change in its currents, has grown to shell the younger’s responses from the slightest shift. It’s the details in his voice, mostly, or sometimes the lack of a voice, the sound’s presence he suppresses and absence he supplies instead. Kyungsoo’s learned to identify sound and silence alike, and nurses the habit rather unconsciously.

Right now, Sehun is quite alarmed, but there’s the something else, something more like _fear of disappointment_ creeping behind the slow hesitation and low rasping of his voice. “—nothing, I mean, you know, whether or not we see each other tomorrow, which we won’t, _hm_ —” The next day, January 12, is Kyungsoo’s birthday, and so he connects the dots without much difficulty. “You guys are planning something, aren’t you?”

“ _Bye, hyung!_ ” And the line clips on his laughter.

> _Junmyeon and Kyungsoo,_
> 
> _Jongin and I used to run all over our sector and play scavengers, so let's do a treasure hunt at Kyungsoo's apartment for his party!_   
>  _I want to buy a toy robot like the one Jongin used to have, we can hide the pieces for the game and build it together at the end. So let's go shopping tomorrow!_
> 
>   
>  _And Junmyeon I spoiled the surprise for Kyungsoo, I'm sorry hyung : (_
> 
> _xoxo_   
>  _Sehun_

Kyungsoo completes his daily errands at the market and returns to his apartment in the afternoon, enclosing himself in his bedroom with a hot lunch and a copy of the market’s journal. With the institution date approaching, management is occupied with the preparations, granting to-be workers like Kyungsoo some free time — most likely the last they’ll get for a while.

The market trade is the driving force of Seoul-D's economy, and it’s declared that there’s no bigger privilege than to serve its purpose; _become one_. One craft, one field, one force to fuel the aspiration of the future. Humanities, arts, science, all gridded knowledge — a network of services like never before. _Become one_. Kyungsoo and Junmyeon's pharmaceutical division is a major branch inside Seoul-D Central: Health, and alongside the medical resources constituent it stands as one of the most profitable commerces in the country. There aren’t many citizens who were granted Kyungsoo's luck, Kyungsoo who climbed up the chain from the very pitless hell he was raised in, and there are close to none who’ve fought and endured the hurt and burn of his soul. People work hard — Kyungsoo has to work harder. There’s a saying that everybody in the current _age of restoration_ is born inside one lane of profession, that of doctors, and the percentage of those who achieve that goal is infinitesimal, while the majority scatters in the global medicine—medicine that, in only a few centuries, has surpassed essential, has become capital, and in its myriads of sides Kyungsoo chose to cater rather than to cure. 

14:28. Kyungsoo lulls himself in the afternoon daze, the clouds painting his window view as he idly lays in bed. He distracts himself watching the shuttles pierce through the gray sky, crossing, gliding, falling out the frame to the earth he pictures below.

He counts the time with the passage of the clouds, the course of the sunlight. He falls asleep to the roaring of airplanes, to the sound of gravel. He dreams in the white space of his slumber a greyer sky, an ashier earth. There’s nothing but the low hum of drones as he roams the landscape, singing softly, and it occurs to Kyungsoo that he’s searching for something with his _song_ , a voice to answer to his, in this void of mystery. He faintly hears things inside, songs of beauty, wealth, hymns of hope, and then some airs of fury, resonances so violent he retreats from the sound — but they drift, overlap, wander like the wind, never calling back to him. A man walks alone in a dream.

Kyungsoo wakes an hour later to a persistent chime from his phone, and in an instant he’s all awake, the wide realm of songs forgotten. Through the haze Kyungsoo seizes a feeling, like a lit beacon pulling him forward — Jongin has replied. Thousands of possibilities fly through Kyungsoo’s mind, though he stays drawn to the light, drawn to the present of him and Jongin. There’s something in the reconnection with him that revives Kyungsoo’s beating, singing heart — long lost friends reuniting.

 

_d_

_omg_

_D.O.???_

_Kyungsoo hyung?^??_

 

Kyungsoo can’t help but to picture Kai once more: brown hair, blue eyes, golden skin in the dirt and grime. He’s running as always, dragging his robot toy through the wreckage of a broken Seoul, a broken earth. Jongin’s running from it too, Kyungsoo on his tail — two boys fleeing time.

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, and carefully types his reply.

 

_You remember! : )_

_How are you?_

_Can I call you Jongin?_

 

Kyungsoo fights the incredulity that rises in him as he reads the signal alerting him that Jongin is writing. _The search for the disappearing man_ has been brought to completion. Kyungsoo manages to believe it.

 

_yeyeah of course! and I can call you hyung right_

_omg is it really you?? it’s been so long_

_how did you find me?_

_It’s a long story haha_

_Yes_

_I actually wanted to talk about that, I’ve been informed you’re transferring to Seoul-D East faculty_ _  
_are you coming to the ceremony on Sunday?_ _

_yes I’m transferring and I’m going in bionics! are you being instituted too??_

_sorry I didn’t even reply yea I’m doing well, kinda tired since it’s my last days here but I’m ok_ _  
_what about you?_ _

_Yes I’m going to be instituted on Sunday too_

_I’m in pharmaceuticals_

_I’m good thanks : ) It’s good to hear from you_

_I know this is really sudden but Sehun and I and my other friend who works at the market can come_ _  
_pick you up directly from the Interorbital after tomorrow. We wanted to plan a party for the institution day_ _

_You remember Sehun right?_

_OMGGG sehunnie??? yes I do how is he omg we were like best friends_

_best friends with you hyung of course haha_

_I’d really like that!!! we’re going to be instituted together_

_this is amazing!!_

_I can’t believe it’s really you_

 

Jongin asks if he should be concerned that they already acquired all the files for his transfer;

 

_I know things seem rushed and sudden but I'll tell you all about it after : )_

_I can't believe I found you too_

 

After a few more excited exchanges, Kyungsoo gives Jongin Sehun's number and promises to text him as soon as the arrangements for his arrival have been made with Junmyeon. It’s on that note that he lets himself breathe again, heartbeat begging to steady. Jongin is finally here, real and wondrous Jongin who remembers him — Jongin who remembers _D.O._ just as Kyungsoo remembers _Kai_. But now it’s D.O. and Kai who remember each other, whose story comes to an end, and here starts the one of Kyungsoo and Jongin — two men crossing tides. 

> _Junmyeon and Sehun,_
> 
> _Jongin is well and has agreed we pick him up. We can meet up to prepare the party at my apartment before going to see him at the Interorbital._
> 
> _See you tomorrow : )_
> 
> _Yours,_ _  
>  _Kyungsoo_ _

 

—

 

Before Seoul-D, there had been four others: A, B, and C, and the original city the previous generations buried and built over. The relentless pursuit over the capital between the ruling councils formed after The War now entered its fourth trial, burning and rebuilding city after city, Seoul after Seoul, and not a day passed without a strife, without an outcry from its people.

The first recorded occurrence of a Cycle, before the discovery of _song recognition_ , coincided with the Overthrow, a brutal campaign that reformed all the country’s borders. It was convinced that the manifestation was a result of the havoc that destroyed a farmland region where a mass deportation was taking place — the majority being women and young girls, all of them losing their homes to the new government's reclaims. The shuttle that served for the transport had flown for about fifteen minutes before it dropped on a skyscraper sector near the coast. It had been the news of hijackers at first, counter-social militants aiming to further disrupt the processes of reconciliation, until the examination and log revealed afterward that everybody on the shuttle, passengers and pilots alike, had fallen asleep minutes before the crash. _A great wave_ , the scientific community had proclaimed it, a _one-hit strike_ that incapacitated 1500 people. Tests furthermore revealed that, out of all the victims, only one passenger, a single child, was shown to still have traces of brain activity, although extremely disturbed.

In the middle of the discussion, a small group of neurologists hypothesized that the young girl, having fallen asleep, somehow pulled everyone in her proximity into slumber as well, resulting in the tragedy. Speculation turned to theory, and what started as an isolated incident became one of the crucial turning points of the century, the entrance into the _new era_ , _age of the unimaginable._

Kyungsoo was, without any artificiality, indifferent toward the Cycle and its growing phenomenon. The mystery of _cycles_ and _songs_ together summoned many preoccupations around the world, and so developed around singers everywhere a fascination that bordered the obsession. The Cycle phenomenon had been, in its period of emergence, a puzzle in a time of _too much and all at once_ , what with the incessant fighting and costly reforms.

In the short years following the inauguration of Seoul-D, the chaos that rose post- _contract_ rendered the ravaged city sleepless in fright, and like its source it was a period without law and without state; Kyungsoo and Junmyeon’s generation were what was left of that hopeless time. Kyungsoo’s family had been relocated and subsequently confined into the newly established sectors, amongst dozens of other families, some who stayed and some who left. They ate packaged rations distributed by military rigs and slept in electrified courtyards.

Kyungsoo remembers the heat, under the smoke, the charred grounds and burnt paths he cut in the dust. He remembers a smaller Sehun and him crying with the other children, and men watching them with their guns. The violence happened most at night; screams, shots, explosions — death erupted from the city like a howl under the full moon.

Sehun had been amongst the youngest in the sector where they first met Jongin, the shy boy with crystal-blue eyes who had never wanted to give them his name in the years of their company, fast years that were sadly associated with the worst parts of their childhood. They played pretend when they couldn’t sleep, rising as ninjas of the rebel forces: Sehun as the leader and Kyungsoo his best fighter. Jongin simply called himself _Kai_ during their games, an escape in the name of a hero in his image, his own secret life outside the madness. He loved to run — a trait he retained over the years, much to Junmyeon’s frustration — and was a terribly light sleeper, so like many of the other children Kai came to Kyungsoo for rest, for peace, and maybe for a sense of familiarity — the resemblance of an ordinary life.

For Kyungsoo, singing, cycles, songs — all of it returned to that time of grief. His _gift_ , as people would call it today, in refuge, sewn under scars, scars, _scars_. So Kyungsoo sleeps, he dreams, always, and never wakes up there again — alone in the ruin.

It’s become tradition for Junmyeon to treat Kyungsoo and Sehun to the sushi lounge of their second meeting, a fond reminiscence of their starting point, every evening of the market's annual institution date, but because Kyungsoo is the one to be instituted this year, his obligatory presence after the ceremony prevents their yearly outing.

As promised, Sehun takes them to the Central Mall, browsing the many toy stores and variety shops. Jongin's robot's model has been discontinued, but there are several look-alikes with sleeker pieces and happier colours. Kyungsoo finds the rearrangement quite suitable; a new part for a new man.

They leave the Central Mall with Jongin's gift and boxes of ingredients for a cake. Kyungsoo feels a burst of joy when he recognizes the pillar-light patterns leading to the higher sectors, inside Junmyeon's motor as he drives them away — "Surprise!".

There’s considerably more people at the sushi lounge tonight than there is on the institution evenings, but Junmyeon’s reserved the entire rooftop for Kyungsoo's birthday dinner, and so remains the lavender and orange in the skies, with their company.

“Happy birthday, Kyungsoo!” Sehun places on their table a large green box strung with glittery rope, containing inside an elegant flight jacket and a small card with the words _Kyungsoo xoxo Sehun_.

“It's my own design I submitted for the Energize Project, and I got selected! They have the print, so this is the original.” He turns the garment around in Kyungsoo's hands, eagerly pointing at the many patches on the sleeves and back. “These are all solar textiles, and the fiber used for the cloth contains these synthetics that react to the environment, so the fabric feels cool when it detects too much heat, and vice-versa. They prevent strain and ease movement too — plus, it's super stylish, don't you think?”

The colours are Kyungsoo's favorite, and he couldn’t agree more; Sehun has a natural instinct for his work. He congratulates the younger before he thanks him —  _It's amazing, Sehun-ah, I love you_ — and finds himself suddenly overcome with nostalgia. He hugs Sehun tightly, frail Sehun who became so passionate, so spirited, so strong, Sehun who suffered just as much, if not even more than Kyungsoo to get to where he is now, Sehun with whom Kyungsoo shares his pain — Sehun who stayed at his side until the end.

“I've got half a present that goes with Sehun's, and another one after.” Junmyeon's gift is a personalized charge-key that the market consigns to new workers, and gives access to most of the rooms in the facility, as well as armories. “I had them give me permission to give it to you before the ceremony. It's designed with the colours and print you like, there's your name and ID number on it, and you can charge it with the jacket!”

“So you'll always _get that power_ ,” Sehun happily adds. Kyungsoo squeezes his hand and snorts in response.

“I love it so much, thank you.” Junmyeon then gives him his own card with simply _Kyungsoo_  marked on the top in his lovely handwriting. Kyungsoo feels through the paper with his fingers the hard shape of a smaller rectangle enclosed inside. When he opens the card, he forces his eyes on Junmyeon's message on the left rather than on the gift on the right. He can tell, however, by the widening of Sehun's eyes he spies next to him, that the present is Junmyeon's kind of _expensive_. 

Tucked in the slit is a 3-full pass to the Night Fair — no restrictions, and free refreshments. “Junmyeon,” Kyungsoo says gravely, “how rich are you?” The Night Fair is an extremely exclusive theme park that’s entirely mechanically-operated, and just 1 standard-access pass is equal to three months' pay for the average market worker. Kyungsoo and Sehun have only been to the Night Fair once, and it had been on Junmyeon's invitation as well.

“Don't look at me like that,” he jokes, “it's all right, I know some people from the administration there. You're going to be busy a lot in the first months after your institution, but don't forget to have fun once in a while.” Junmyeon timidly looks over to Sehun, who covetously eyes the pass. Kyungsoo loves the Night Fair — Sehun adores it. “Don't worry, hyung will buy you one too for your birthday, and your institution day.”

Sehun turns to him with the beautiful twinkle in his eyes that they know gets Junmyeon easily flustered. Kyungsoo slides the card inside the green box without looking away from them, and they both cross the table to smother Junmyeon with hugs and pecks, ruffling the pink hair they know the man likes to keep pristine. “Thank you, hyung!”

They order Kyungsoo's favourite dessert, an ice-cream bouquet, and the evening is spent in a warm embrace, Kyungsoo and Sehun pressed against Junmyeon on the daybed, gazing at the sunset — fiery red fleeing the midnight blue. Kyungsoo thinks of their first night on the same rooftop, the different faces they wore, but the colours in the sky stays, holds their memories and locks them together in their time.

Half an hour before midnight, resting in the backseat of Junmyeon's motor as the man detours on a main street — blocked, and very much on fire — Sehun grasps Kyungsoo's arm and holds it firmly, his eyes glued onto the screen of his phone. "Institution day is Jongin's birthday!"

"Huh?" is all Kyungsoo manages to answer, caught in his drowsiness and the steady whirring of the motor. "Tomorrow?"

"No, after-tomorrow. I told him we were out for your birthday — he says happy birthday, hyung, by the way — and then he told me his is after-tomorrow. On institution day." Sehun turns his phone to show Kyungsoo, and the light flashes brightly inside the dim compartment. 

"What are the odds," Kyungsoo says. "The one day between our two birthdays, and we're meeting again."

At the wheel, Junmyeon chuckles softly. "Must be fate."

Kyungsoo looks out the window, nightlights striping the crystal of the glass, and contemplates. A city moves forever while he and Jongin are frozen in their time; Kyungsoo walks forward, Jongin walks backward, both searching to meet. "Tell him I said thanks."

 

—

 

The green ceiling of the bedroom frames itself in Kyungsoo’s field of view as he wakes — a smile stretching over his face. Muffled eruptions of voices and sounds of grating metal spur him to his side, tearing his gaze toward the crystal window of his bedroom where the yellow smoke of the bolt-bombs clouds and dovetails in the panes. Kyungsoo sighs despondently at the greeting of yet another morning rally, violent demonstrations to cause more traffic and outages in the city. He privately wishes for a respite — _this is the peace we deserve today_. A still second later, the unmistakable blast of a rocket reverbs across the residential complex, the tremors rocking the furniture. Kyungsoo's body totters over and his fingers reach to grasp the edge of the bed, just as he hears the clear burst of glass shatter on his floor. Outside, the screams break out.

Pushing himself up, Kyungsoo turns to the pieces of the chalice knocked over, the spilled water spreading with colour, and he unkindly eyes the crystal of his window.

He runs to the lounge and quickly turns on the bulletin, pressing the signal button for reports of disturbance from the device. The guard service is already sweeping the tournebride in front of their complex, littered with ammunition shards and stained with molten waste.

Kyungsoo moves to the kitchen with yesterday's groceries and listens to the news. A calculated rise in market stocks. The Bulletproof, taking over the foreign media. And the new year’s institution of the new wave of market workers, to come.

_“—and a notice from Seoul-D traffic security, Routes 6 and 12 of Sector C have been officially blocked for an undetermined amount of time, as well as the entirety of the Unit Tunnel, due to disorderly gatherings of rebel groups. The government has issued—”_

Hands spread over the flour, Kyungsoo spins to face the monitor just as the meter chimes 11, and it rings at his door. His face is twisted in displeasure as he fists a cloth and swipes the lock in one quick motion.

Navy wool overcoat, knit cardigan, hair combed back; Junmyeon appears to Kyungsoo as he always is — punctual, relaxed, impeccably immaculate. He gifts him a clean basket of sweetmeats and florets, and a kiss on his temple. There’s flattering coat of black tracing his glittering steel eyes, the fine kind he wears only for function parties at the workplace.

"Did you get here safely?" Kyungsoo asks him. "There was an uproar here this morning. And they closed the Unit Tunnel."

"I'm fine. I was supposed to pick up Sehun, but there's a protest at his sector. He's going to take the train. I can still drive to the Interorbital."

"This is insane," Kyungsoo grouses. "And it's only gotten worse this week. What if something happens at the institution ceremony? You know they keep threatening the market."

Junmyeon strides to the kitchen, dropping his overcoat in the lounge. To Kyungsoo's surprise, Junmyeon doesn’t look too bothered by the disturbances. "If they do anything, it's to send a message. I don't think they'd actually hurt anyone." He stares at the cake without much emotion. "Who are you talking about, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. The militants, the SM corps. Generation. E-"

" _Kyungsoo_ ," Junmyeon interrupts, pats his shoulder and smiles at him softly. "Are you nervous? Everything's going to be fine."

Kyungsoo sighs, leaning against the counter. "I'm a little nervous, I guess. I just want the ceremony to be good."

"And it will be — you've worked hard for this, I know it." Like Sehun, Junmyeon has been by Kyungsoo's side since the beginning, and Kyungsoo thinks sometimes about how privileged he is to have Junmyeon not only as a mentor, but also a friend. He’s lived through different hardships with Junmyeon than the ones he shared with Sehun, and in four years Junmyeon’s witnessed perhaps all of Kyungsoo's sides — good ones, bad ones, his pride, fears, frustrations and aspirations. Junmyeon's greatest quality is his patience, his steadfast composure. He controls the flow, and things move as he moves; Junmyeon is like the sea. Abundant, full of strength — _free_.

Kyungsoo often wonders what’s on the other side of that smooth surface he tends to so delicately. "Don't be worried, Kyungsoo. I take care of you, OK? Even if something happens, hyung will protect you." And there it is, Junmyeon’s nothing but this — a sincere man. 

Kyungsoo reaches for him and wraps his arms around his neck, drowning in his soothing aura. Junmyeon returns the hug and whispers kindly. "Cheer up, now. Today you see Jongin again. He gets to the Interorbital at 4, right? How is he?"

The oven chimes, and Kyungsoo pulls back to set the melting-pot. "He’s good. Tired. I’m happy you two will get to meet. Apparently, they talk a lot about you at his faculty.”

“Yeah?” Junmyeon pauses, staring hard at the bulletin, “Well—our departments make many transactions and trade all the time. They should be in awe of my management skills.”

Kyungsoo laughs, but doesn’t disagree. Junmyeon’s hold on the resource system is so firm that it’s a wonder he’s not the head of the business. But despite the man’s words, he doesn’t like to be recognized much, and isn’t big on public appearances, the ones that his status as secretary unfortunately conditions him to. Kyungsoo always tells Junmyeon he’d make a great leader. "What would we do without hyung?"

Sehun arrives an hour and a half later with his blond hair in curls, wearing a gorgeous checkered blazer, nude lipstick, and a confident look on his face. Lately, it seems that Junmyeon and him are trying to out-dress each other, which is silly and absurd because Kyungsoo’s quite sure that a considerable part of Sehun's wardrobe comes from Junmyeon's pocket. Sehun gifts him a bouquet of violets and lilies, and a tight-lipped _smooch_ on his forehead. "My D.O."

After clearing the cake inside the oven, Sehun and him disassemble the toy and hide the pieces inside the apartment. In a way, Jongin is already here, sharing a motive with the toy they break apart and scatter in Kyungsoo's home, Kyungsoo's privacy. He’s under his sofa, over his cupboards, in the bed — all at once and everywhere, waiting to be found again.

Seoul-D Interorbital Air Station is an interruption mine, has been in an ongoing modernization from even before Seoul-A — an ironic play on the fact that the very refurbishments prevent any progress from its part. The Interorbital is like the city itself, wiped out and reimagined so many times, torn down and reconstructed to the detriment of its citizens, its consumers. Revolution at an impasse. Along with the increase of gridlocks, the rise of threats from insurgent groups render flight activity erratic and unpredictable.

Jongin's shuttle arrives at 4, but the prospect of a timely reunion is unlikely, Junmyeon tells him as he stations his motor outside the terminal, where the city's armed guards patrol the tunnel-grounds. Kyungsoo doesn’t discourage because he’s waited years for Jongin, without knowing it. The space between them decreases with every step, and Kyungsoo waits, waits for _fate_. Something inside his soul tells him they’ll return to each other, no matter what comes between them. If he can’t believe in Seoul-D, he’ll believe in Jongin, and their _destiny_.

"Oh." Junmyeon halts abruptly in front of the main gate, stopping them in their tracks. "I forgot. They have monitoring officers now, for Cycle incidents."

Kyungsoo and Sehun look over to the rows of identification machines, where many men are posted with heavy weapons. Neither of them have been to the Interorbital in years, and apart from the lack of structure, a lot of the processing has changed. Junmyeon is frowning, deep in thought, a subtle displeasure drawn across his face, the kind that betrays nothing. "Just _—_ stay behind me, and don't say anything."

"What's going on?" Sehun asks as Junmyeon leads them at steady pace to the gates. He presents his market ID, nodding curtly at the officer who, after a tense moment, swipes the lock and lets them pass without sparing them another glance. Junmyeon all of a sudden hooks his arm under Kyungsoo's as they enter the terminal, Sehun pressing close behind.

They take the sky-rail to Jongin's arrival lounge, riding over the Interorbital's climbing ports and control domes. In the horizon and through the crystal of the glass, the divine, monstrous, sublime city of Seoul-D sculpts itself against the mint blue paradise circling the air. Rather than being a drab landscape, there’s something polished and vivifying in the scheme of cool colours and sharp shapes, in the background of the controlled chaos, all the horror and glory, contained in the towering edifices, spacious paved plazas, and pillars of light enclosing the routes. A restful energy radiates, a theme a dormant strength — a state in the mind. _We welcome you to Seoul-D; East District_. 

"Oh my god." Sehun leans on the window and Kyungsoo looks down at the apron area, where are swarming chains of sentinels and security vehicles. The perimeter is cast in smoke that gyrates from the wreckage of an aircraft near another section of the flight line. There are lights signaling for medical assistance, and the echo of sirens can be heard from within their compartment.

The scorched grounds of their childhood flashes past Kyungsoo's eyes: rubble, gas, fire. He gently pulls Sehun toward him. "Are they going to shut that zone?"

"They'll have to," Junmyeon says solemnly, staring down at the damage. 

Sehun's gaze falls over. "Who do you think did that? EXO?"

Their transport swerves to a lower rail, detouring from the site of the incident to the arrivals' lounge. Below them, in the distance, the formations of the rotor-crafts have split the remains of the aircraft, and a mass of bright silver blocks and coins floods the surroundings of the crash site. Looking away, Junmyeon sighs, awaiting the detonation. "Who else."

A minute later, as they step out onto the glistening platform, the thundering boom of the swallow-bomb resounds from afar, vibrating the crystal of the viewing panes. The three men bypass a row of defense motors speeding down the gallery, calling for people to clear the way. Kyungsoo starts to feel the worry knotting in his stomach. He doesn’t want to look forward to, nor ever remember Jongin feeling this way — anxious and afraid. Junmyeon's hold tightens. "It really has gotten worse, Kyungsoo, you were right."

The arrival times for their entire zone is delayed an hour. Kyungsoo is so frustrated that his body works up a heat, and Sehun’s jacket becomes considerably softer, cooler, lighter. He feels a gnawing inside himself, vibrating, whirling left and right and knocking against his senses. There’s a desperation in his breath that he’s ignored, but as usual, Junmyeon sees through him. "It'll be OK. Just a little while longer."

At a quarter past five, Jongin's shuttle discharges on the jet bridge. The voice synthesizer, in its flurry of departure announcements, haul calls and the occasional warning rebroadcast, reports of a gate change of the flight. The sea of unconcerned passengers flow down the terminal as Kyungsoo, Junmyeon, and Sehun glance at each other wearily. 

A half hour later, one level down and four gates across, the disembarking shuttle brings a new wave of comers through the portal of the terminal. Kyungsoo's heart is now rattling in his chest as he and Junmyeon, on the tip of their toes, scan the bustling crowd for a luster of brown hair, a pair of blue eyes. These bubbling, nervous moments are for Kyungsoo's fears; here he meets Jongin, his not-stranger, at last. Time has stretched its wire between them, there are creases, cuts, and the fissures along the lines fade with the colours — memories, in the channel Kyungsoo and Jongin have built, have dried and some have disappeared with their absence, and for the longest time until now Jongin was to Kyungsoo a dream to be achieved, appearing and disappearing in the routine of his mind.

In truth, Kyungsoo doesn’t know exactly what he fears — even if Jongin isn’t who he feels him to be, even if they’re unable to reconcile their past and current reality, there wouldn’t be any blame to direct; time is a hazard. _But fate isn’t_ , something inside him speaks.

And in an instant, Junmyeon, Sehun and him are swimming, navigating their way toward an incredibly tall man, who waves at them with a pair of polarized glasses. His grin is wide and Kyungsoo mimics it. The moment of reconnaissance occurs and passes in under a second; Kyungsoo with all his being will remember this dawning moment, this second of a birth, entry, coming, a _debut_. Jongin and him, once more.

" _Hello, hyung_."

 


	2. Sing For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> '-' dialogue is hard

Snow weather came to an end in the beginning of the last century, but its magnificent image still remains: white hills, frost, the spreading sparkle in the deep orange of the night. Ice turned to water and so did everything else. The earth, the city, the skies — the sun melted behind the sheet of the clouds and once in a while it cried light over their heads. In Seoul-D, the weather is accomplice to its motion; a tempest for furor, outrage and scandal; a tearful for the inconsolable hours, draining, passing; and the overcast rules, commands the capital in return. The city is alive with the thunder in the skies. But these are the _blooming days_  — where the high wind brushes life past them, where the storm inspires. And there isn’t a more beautiful storm than the one inside Jongin's eyes. Jongin whose traits are now so much clearer, so much _realer_ that they stray from the limits of Kyungsoo's imagination. Brown hair, blue eyes, golden skin.

Jongin's hair is a rich copper that captures the sunlight and turns it to lilacs, and it falls over his sharp face like a caress, obscures the splendor of his eyes. As if desirous of the sight, the afternoon breeze brushes back the fine strands, revealing the thousand sapphires that shatter together, the strikes of pale blue lightning tracing, spinning, raising the twister inside. Jongin's gaze is piercing, contrasting with the kind of dormant expression he gives; sun-kissed, sunset-sand skin, curved lips like roses. He’s so beautiful that it’s impossible to simply stare — Kyungsoo's eyes map over all his features like they’ll be lost if he doesn’t look. Everything about him moves, compels Kyungsoo to move, and again Jongin is _continuously going_ , pulling with him the one he bewitches. It’s a different kind of _cycling_.

Sehun is conversing with Jongin excitedly in the backseat inside the motor, sitting between them in the middle, like they never left each other at all. Kyungsoo watches them, watches Jongin's delighted figure against the crystal of the window, where the city runs and stretches. For now, Kyungsoo has him still, while the world outside them vanishes.

They climb up the slope exiting a tunnel, where Junmyeon grunts in annoyance at the sight of the route clearance signal ahead. He spins the wheel and descends onto the adjacent route, the rails below shifting and gliding through the luminous cylindrical beams, spiraling down and tracing the tube-like highways. In the background, the delicate architecture of Seoul-D and its spotless sky run against them, speeding away as they rush back in — fleeing city and its framework.

"How was your flight, Jongin?" Junmyeon asks him, glancing at them in the rear-view mirror.

"It was good, thanks." Jongin's voice is deep and glassy, and a little hoarse from his sleep. "I think there was a leveled Cyclist in my compartment; I was out like a light."

Kyungsoo feels in his chest a bittersweet curve at the mention, a kind of distrust he can’t help. The thought of someone else than him _cycling_ with Jongin vexes Kyungsoo. He searches for Jongin's gaze, but the man's eyes catch the flicker of the guard siren across the abandoned route, distorted from the crystal, and seconds later the droning of rotor-crafts rolls in through infinitesimal waves inside the motor. "It's that bad here too, huh?"

"Is it like this in the South?"

"They've been talking about an SM corps whose headquarters are hidden in the Underground, and it's total chaos. I'm so glad I left. Nice jacket," he turns to Kyungsoo, whose eyes widen, attentive. "You still have to tell me how you found me. Not that I'm not happy to see you again."

"Ah, I made it—it’s cool, right? And we can tell you the entire thing," Sehun cheerfully says. "It's kind of funny, actually. Four years ago..."

He recounts the events, walking them back to the past, Junmyeon and Kyungsoo interjecting here and there. But for almost the entirety of the conversation Jongin's eyes are on Kyungsoo, frozen, almost scrutinizing. When Kyungsoo meets his stare, Jongin simply beams, glee carving the crinkles below his stormy eyes and Kyungsoo smiles back, silent, the acknowledgement gone inside their own world. Behind Jongin's head he sees himself in the reflection of the crystal: his dark charcoal hair is pushed back and cuts the line to his eyes in a comma, the half of his face white from the sunlight. Jongin leans back against the crystal and it occurs to Kyungsoo that he’s also looking at himself on the opposite window — for a moment they’re side by side, touching the mirror image of the other.

Sehun continues to talk and they never break away, Kyungsoo looking from Jongin to himself in the crystal, even when Junmyeon dives under an arch and the darkness sweeps over them for a second, they resurface with their gazes locked, a string of sentiment connecting them. 

After a few minutes, what appears to be a commotion on the oncoming intersection has Junmyeon sighing loudly in frustration. "These _amateurs_." More rotor-crafts, charged with signal lights, float over the translucent crystal of the conduit passage. "The Unit Tunnel's blocked, right?" He pushes himself against his seat, glancing behind them, before switching the gear and speeding down the slippery route behind a line of other motors.

Kyungsoo, Sehun and Jongin watch the assembly of protesters disappear on the other route as they drive down the bridge. Columns of light shaped in rectangles immure the passage, and the conduit opens on the bridge — Junmyeon opens a pane from the motor, letting in some air. "We'll get to Seoul- _W_ before we reach your complex." He perks up, "Oh, right, Jongin, we didn't even talk about tonight. I can drive you home — which sector did they station you in?"

"Uh, 89-V, I think." 

"Th—that's pretty far." Junmyeon's hand hovers over the search engine near the controls and inputs the coordinates. "Over the coast."

"Yeah, the complexes are new there. But there's a direct transit to the market, so it's fine."

"Still, that's a one-hour commute. If you're ever in need of a ride, come see me. I have meetings and errands pass that sector sometimes, so I can drop you off easily."

Jongin smiles languidly, and Kyungsoo sees the fatigue stretching over his features. "Thank you, that's nice of you."

"Junmyeon is the nicest man on Earth, Jongin," Sehun says, "and he'll buy you stuff if he likes you."

Jongin bursts into giggles just as Junmyeon shakes his head. Sehun and him fall into their casual banter, and Kyungsoo doesn’t conceal his surprise when he notices Jongin seeking his attention once more, how they gravitate back to each other. After so many years, it seems like Jongin is the one who pulls, and Kyungsoo falls in.

Three more bridges and one detour at the overpass, they arrive a half hour later in front of Kyungsoo's complex, Jongin having almost fallen asleep against Sehun. Out and under the daylight, Kyungsoo becomes aware of how exhausted Jongin looks; there’s an invisible layer covering his face, floating, Kyungsoo sees it take shape and drain the strength out of Jongin, Jongin who slouches, presses against him inside the elevator, toddles toward the door and does his best to liven up when he sees the colourful lights inside the apartment. "So clean." 

They take out the cake and Kyungsoo retrieves some candles from his storage boxes; Jongin looks even more ethereal flushed under the sparkling flames, his tired expression appearing so peaceful, almost relieved. “Happy early birthday, Jongin!” The light dies by Jongin’s breath and in the midst of the cheers, Kyungsoo feels another one come to life — bright and shining hard, _a deeper burning fire_. Their gazes meet, over the blur of the smoke.

Jongin very prudently hunts through Kyungsoo’s apartment for the pieces that he doesn’t know yet make his old toy — the glint of determination that glosses over his eyes throws Kyungsoo back to the hot years of their childhood, where he follows a younger, smaller Jongin through the mud. In his memory, they’re crawling through a tunnel that leads them to Sehun’s den, a square abandoned cabin they decorate with the shiny pieces Jongin collects and compacts from the ruin yards — his galaxy collage. When Jongin enters, the pretty shimmering of the gems bounces on his curious eyes, casting them up and cloaking his irises; the dazzling gleam tears through the shadows of the cabin with stunning colours, and Kyungsoo is mesmerized by the true diamonds on Jongin’s soot-smeared and almost inhuman face, the starlight in his eyes, blinding, _blinding_. 

Jongin’s eyes never lost their innocence, but Kyungsoo thinks they had none to begin with — they’ve seen the worst at the youngest age possible. And now, simply, his eyes are shrouded in a kind of mist, the colour has matured, and one look is worth a thousand words, a thousand thoughts, years, lifetimes. They’re finally together again.

Kyungsoo sits beside a very sleepy Jongin at 9, observing the man twist and tighten the pieces of the toy together. Junmyeon watches them with a fond smile across the table, occasionally glimpsing at Sehun who paces in the kitchen, on a phone call with his coordinator at the market. The smirk on Jongin’s face betrays his excitement when, after fixing the body together, he guesses the shape of the toy. He rests his cheek on his palm and takes a moment to simply study the parts. Jongin is very much drained, but seems to put an effort, fueled by his enjoyment for tinkering, always. Junmyeon is the one who takes over in the end with Kyungsoo who, after a few mishandled pulls, points to the safe-blade lying on the table, suggesting he seal the entire thing so the toy becomes complete, and final.

“I love it,” Jongin murmurs, clutching it happily, smiling to himself. It’s not quite _Kai’s_ , and so it’s perfect. “Thank you guys so much. I feel at home already.” His downcast eyes travel to Kyungsoo once more — _home_ , Sehun and him and the little toy, their young company reunited.

“It’s getting late, though, and you two get instituted tomorrow,” Junmyeon advises, looking at his watch, a cheap model he wears permanently. “Let’s call it a night. Sehun, are you all right?”

Jongin dramatically drops his body on the sofa just as Sehun calls back, “Yeah, Tao’s just making sure we have everything for the ceremony tomorrow. He asks you answer a new email of his, also.”

“Oh,” Junmyeon blinks, “of course.”

“I wanna’ sleep,” Jongin mumbles into the thick sheets where Sehun goes to lie beside him. “ _D.O.-hyung_ , please sing — ‘else I won’t sleep.”

“Ah, that’s right,” the blond, in a similar burnt-out daze, exclaims. “Now that we’re all together, Kyungsoo can sing for us again. Let’s _cycle._ ”

Kyungsoo chuckles lightly, “I don’t think so,” and Junmyeon boldly goes to stroke the back of Sehun’s neck.

“Drive me home?” His hand lazily glides down Junmyeon’s arm, Junmyeon whose gaze is so soft, even Jongin raises his head and sees the picture, exchanging a secretive look with Kyungsoo, for the umpteenth time. Sehun’s fingers ghost over the man’s wrist before retreating, fleeing, and Kyungsoo can tell by the shift in his mentor’s expression that the touch burns; Sehun is just like the wind and Junmyeon misses it, will never keep up with it.

Leftover boxes of cake in their hands, Junmyeon, Sehun and Jongin walk out of the apartment, leaving with him their gratitude. Junmyeon embraces Kyungsoo at the door. “I’m so proud of you.” They’re all so tired, but his mentor's façade rises once more, strong Junmyeon, unmovable sea, and somewhere in his heart Kyungsoo is saddened by the man’s endeavors. “ _I’m so proud of you_ , and I’m so happy to be your hyung. You are my best and favorite trainee. And you’re going to be great tomorrow, so don’t worry OK? I love you, Kyungsoo. Get a good night’s rest.”

Kyungsoo buries his face in the man’s overcoat before the emotion can get to his eyes. “See you tomorrow, hyung.”

They retreat into the hallway and Kyungsoo’s gaze follows them as they make their way inside the elevator. Right before the doors close, Jongin calls out to him, “I’m serious, Kyungsoo-hyung! I can’t sleep, so you’ll have to sing for me!” There’s no reply from his part, and Jongin doesn’t expect it either, but the way his soul seems to anchor down the thought says enough. And their eyes meet, always.

Jongin disappears again, but this time, Kyungsoo sees him.

 

—

 

“The chances we are given in life are rarely gifts from the sky. Opportunities are made, never in donation, but in accomplishments; _blood, sweat, tears_ — these are what shape your success, and even if you don’t win, your efforts prove you have succeeded, in the way that matters. If you cry yesterday, you are certain to cry today, and tomorrow again. You will keep bleeding until you’ve achieved. To believe in yourself and your efforts, in the end, we are made of this. Your determination is, without a doubt, what keeps you alive. Today our Engineering department honors these valiant souls who have persevered through the very end, who have, to say the least — worked hard, and did well. I am so blessed to be instituting our new members into our ranks, and I hope you will all continue to support us, and continue to succeed. Please welcome our graduating trainees.”

Officer Lee retains his title from his past reputation as one of the most respected lieutenants on the guard units, alongside four of his associates grouping them as the “Princes” of the force. He retired around five years ago and took over the Engineering department of Seoul-D’s market trade, and has been admirably running it ever since.

Like everyone else, Kyungsoo holds the man in high regard, but often he catches himself feeling unsettled by his presence; Officer Lee is somewhat of a legend, there’s an air of _immunity_ that surrounds him, and that’s precisely what throws Kyungsoo off his balance, the unpredictability, the stone simulation of power. There’s a violence in his slow clean smiles, in the blank space of his eyes, an underlying _damage_ , in his beautiful face.

Jongin is very close to Officer Lee, and they remind Kyungsoo of him and Junmyeon — though Jongin has told him they’re the same age. Jongin’s endured a lot — Officer Lee’s grieved far more. And a man who has suffered is a man to be feared.

“Kim Jongin, Bionics, 24-7G.” The crowd applauds and Kyungsoo, his institution badge in hand, stands proudly to see him step up on the silver platform, the sunny smile he gives his superior. Jongin wears the ceremonial ensemble with the bright green ensign of the Engineering department on the collar, owning its worth, and Kyungsoo sees in the subtle shake of his hands, the stuttered breath he lets out in gratitude to the man, that Jongin, at last, triumphs. Officer Lee closes his eyes and pulls him in his arms, and Kyungsoo’s heart swells.

After the ceremonies for the last departments and a parting speech from the head of the administration, Kyungsoo finds himself in the parlor once more, four years in the past and four years in the present, and surely years more in the future, looking around for time — the new generation of workers circling the area, the non-stop surging of the lights in the columns, the sound of conversation, and the emotion that dwells forever in Kyungsoo’s heart, _enduring the test of time_. Junmyeon had given a long speech, as always, and spoke of time: “At the end of today’s hardships, we either think back to the seasons of pain, or they will come back to us on their own. So just listen, when looking back, to the sound of your spirit, the courage in your heart. I hope you never forget your years as trainees, because they are forever your todays.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t forget the days, early mornings and midnights he fought the negative space, isolated in the laboratories and storage units. The memories of some years of Kyungsoo’s training have faded with the colours of these empty walls, these years where his younger self, cold and stoic, dissolves inside the shades of teal, these years caught in a loop of forbearance — blood, sweat, and tears indeed.

“Congratulations, Kyungsoo!” He takes the glass they offer him and sends his best wishes to all of his passing colleagues, some now officially his co-workers, and then finally reaches Junmyeon smiling red-eyed in their corner near the window. “Don’t cry, Myeon. Finally, I’ll be able to send complaints to you directly.”

Junmyeon manages a small laugh. “Like you don’t already do that outside work-hours. I’m not sad. Congratulations, Kyungsoo. Really—you deserve everything tonight.” Kyungsoo's gratitude becomes caught in his throat when he spies the subtle falter in his mentor's face, his eyes wandering away and the displeasure pulling at his lips. "Jun—"

“Hyung!” Jongin and Sehun stumble toward them from the fountain, carrying two shiny armory boxes, one which they drop into Kyungsoo’s open hand, the inquiry forgotten. “They’re giving some to those who got instituted today! You have your key, right? Open it!”

Junmyeon offers to hold his glass as Kyungsoo retrieves his gifted charge-key, and he and Jongin insert them into the locks together. The mechanisms whir, the white fluorescent light radiating around the plug, and _click_ — the cylinder turns. Inside Kyungsoo’s box is a TB battery, rare and pricey, and Jongin plucks from his a capsule kit. “I—” he looks up at Kyungsoo, “I don’t know what this is…”

“It’s a capsule kit, we use it in our research division for separating and enclosing samples. It’s quite useful, actually.”

“Oh, well—is that a TB?” Jongin exclaims, struck in disbelief.

“Do you want to trade?” The brunet nods eagerly, and he gives him the box. “Thank you so much! Hyung, these things power pillar-lights.” Kyungsoo tucks his under his arm and smiles. “You’re welcome. And happy birthday, Jongin. I look forward to working with you.”

Jongin’s eyes focus on him. “Me too, hyung,” he grins, and then lowers his clear, husky voice, “You’ll visit me sometimes, won’t you? We’ll work together.” Jongin bathes under the purple lighting, crystal bulbs filling the ceiling and casting them in the numb glow of the evening. The pale mauve that reflects and contours his hair resembles a falling halo, dresses him like an angel, and Kyungsoo’s heart races. “We will.”

He stays by Junmyeon’s side for the rest of the evening, gazing out the window where the beacon lights slash through the dark, splitting the sky — Seoul-D striving to section the heavens like the earth. More than once he finds himself unconsciously looking for Jongin, peeking behind the aquariums and turning back when he spots his familiar figure next to Sehun’s. And on many instances their eyes meet, Jongin is either glancing back or he’s already staring; each time it brings Kyungsoo to the edge, to be _seen_ like this, so far yet so intimately. Jongin always looks away first.

Junmyeon takes notice, but doesn’t comment — he too looks, and longs for. He sips his drink in silence and the both of them sit there, on the blue loveseat, wishful thoughts running in their minds. “You should ask him out soon.”

Junmyeon embarrasses easily, is easily embarrassed — but at the present he looks hurt. He gazes long and harsh at the view. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“He won’t reject you,” Kyungsoo whispers, “just try. At least.”

The man doesn’t give him a response, and it’s between their pauses that Jongin and Sehun return, arm in arm, their laughter trailing behind them. Kyungsoo spares Junmyeon a sympathetic glance before standing up and joining them.

They reminisce about their childhood like this, crushed under the party lights, talking fondly about the terror days, as if it were all a bad dream. Sehun attempts to lure Junmyeon to the bar but he politely refuses, never looking away from the window. When the blond runs to get more drinks, Jongin and Kyungsoo fall into a flirting game, exchanging feathery touches and flickering glances. Jongin wrests the playfulness out of him and in the obscurity of the parlor Kyungsoo lets himself be seized, enthralled by the man’s sultry expressions, the mischief in his eyes. Jongin tilts his head and _surrounds_ him as the shadows put their attraction out of sight and set a heavy atmosphere, that of temptation and thrills.

Through the night they whisper into each other’s ears, secrets and pleasure on the tip of their tongues. Just when Jongin’s touch becomes too intoxicating, Sehun says something over their heads that only the brunet catches; Jongin throws his head and doubles up with laughter, elbows Sehun who in turn pushes against Kyungsoo, and with no resistance against his back he staggers backward, ever so lightly, his wrist just slips and the champagne pours over Junmyeon’s hair. The man startles as the three of them freeze. Sehun chokes on a cackle, the reaction lost on Jongin, and Kyungsoo and Junmyeon stare at each other, bewildered.

 

—

 

Kyungsoo works the hours, the hours work Kyungsoo. The first day is endless and flies by at the same time, and he feels like he’s at the end of his teen years again, striding down the long steep hallways of the faculty and facing the wall of the laboratory class he once called his second home. Now, in this bigger, cleaner, stricter room, Kyungsoo is truly accessory to the space, the lines that draw the perimeter, and he fades inside the colours of his work, has to work, and work. Trainees replicate many of the tasks part of instituted workers’ routines, but now there’s the sense of urgency, the mask of officiality that adds to the weight.

Junmyeon hasn’t passed to see him today and while it’s no cause for alarm, it’s certainly upsetting. Kyungsoo wonders about the state of mind he was in when he left him the evening before, just a few minutes after midnight, when he let Jongin brush his lips against his cheek before the man retreated to his mentor’s motor with Sehun. “Goodnight, hyung.” Honey and diamonds, melted into to a voice.

He’s so drawn away by the memory that he loses count of the sample number in his hand, and shakes his head, chasing away the shivers, as he starts over. Above everything else, Kyungsoo enjoys his work; counting, mixing, he lays himself inside the formulas and concoctions, the translucent colours taking over his numbers — there’s a cleanliness in his work that resonates with him. A whole world he holds at the tip of his fingers.

Ten minutes before his lunch hour, Kyungsoo collects the filed paperwork into the envelope and makes his way to Junmyeon’s office from the elevator. Right as he turns the corner, the thought of Jongin possesses him again, truly like an invasion, and he steadily reverses his course to the stairs where he descends to the green halls of the Engineering department, taking the longer route to his mentor’s office. He makes the stop at Jongin’s own laboratory, where the man, in white robes and wearing security lenses, is carefully soldering something on a round piece. Jongin’s room is as wide and empty as Kyungsoo’s, and he thinks there’s a real pressure in the stare of the void, constraining them to their devices.

Jongin notices Kyungsoo quickly, and his face lights up over the sputtering sparks. “Hyung! How are you?” Seeing the man at work rouses Kyungsoo even more, Jongin with his tools and the concentration he wipes off his lovely face. “I’m good, thanks. You?”

Jongin pushes the lenses over his hair and marches over to the door. Kyungsoo’s head raises as he approaches looking so pure under his laboratory’s fiery white lights. “I’m great! I’m finally officially starting this project. It’s a waist-reparation. What are you up to?”

“I’m just going to deliver these to Junmyeon,” he bobs his elbow up in indication. “Are you—having lunch, after?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m—” he casts his eyes away for a second, “—having lunch with Sehun, actually. He wants to see me before, since he doesn’t finish work at the same time as us.”

“Oh—OK. I'm happy you two are getting along so well.” Sehun’s schedules are difficult, and Kyungsoo won’t take away their opportunity of a corresponding lunch hour. “He might take you to that café down the street — the one with the animal pictures.”

“Yeah, that’s the one he said! With the dogs. Remember when we used to talk about having wolves as pets?”

“No— _we_ were the wolves. You and Sehun kept jumping over rocks and hurting yourselves.”

“Oh, right!” he shouts, laughs, and then bares his teeth at him in mockery, sliding closer. When Jongin pushes his shoulders forward, tilts his head against the frame and lowers his voice, Kyungsoo knows that they’re brought back to their suspended session of the eve, dark gazes casting over. “But I’d like to do something with you too, _hyung_.”

Jongin seduces in movement, in a language of gestures and timing. His words are conveyed in the details, the small things that make the whole intention, and it’s entrancing. So Kyungsoo entertains him some more, shifting the weight on his feet, looking up at him through his lashes and exposing the fullness in his eyes, playing prey. “Me too.”

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

“No,” he lifts his chin, “We could celebrate our first day.” Jongin smirks, “It’s a date.”

It’s a frozen second that they share, one that traps them in a tremor. It reminds Kyungsoo of a game he used to play with Sehun, making faces and staring intently at each other — trying not to react before the other. Now, he’s straining to keep Jongin to him, Jongin who always looks away first. “I’ll see you later then.”

He waves at him cutely, and Kyungsoo mimics it. "Bye, Jongin." He steps out of the frame and exits the corridor, the print of the tension stalking him like his shadow, always there when he turns, the reflection of his soul on his path.

Kyungsoo leaves the department and returns to the entry where he takes the elevator to the executive floors, where Junmyeon's office separates the two balconies at the end of the hallway. Through the crystal of the glass, he sees the faculty and the training arena grow smaller with the distance he climbs, shooting up the sky like a missile. Kyungsoo has never had a fear of heights, but he doesn’t love them like Junmyeon does. So there will always be a vertiginous tingle to numb his knees and palms as he makes his way up to his mentor's office, inside the transparent walls. 

The wheels on the bay pivot as the ascension comes to a stop and push the compartment inside the rails leading to the platform. The rotator whirs loudly before withdrawing and disappearing down the trajectory. Kyungsoo finds Junmyeon's office locked red, which doesn’t give rise to panic, but does nothing to reassure him. He’s a little more than disconcerted when he knocks forcefully on the door, facing the surface so that his voice travels clearly. "Junmyeon? It's me, I have today's reports. Can I come in?"

There’s no sudden noise to be heard from the inside and the cylinder turns after a few seconds. To Kyungsoo's surprise, the panes inside Junmyeon's office are shut. He sits in his chair as usual, hair proper and clothes shining, but his expression is sinking; he looks like he’s about to faint. "Hyung, are you OK?"

"I'm fine," he answers, voice very hoarse. "I'm—I was supposed to come see you, right? I'm sorry — first days after institutions are always filled with paperwork for the new workers. I'll make it up to you, OK? Do you want to have dinner after? No—wait, I have a meeting." He sighs, a hand clawing at his face, and Kyungsoo moves to his desk to lean next to him, placing a hand against his back.

"You're working hard, Myeonnie, you should take a break. I'll get you lunch to eat."

"It's fine—no, really, you're working hard too, Kyungsoo. Thanks for the reports. I'll text you, OK?"

Kyungsoo nods, rubbing circles below his mentor's neck, "Don't overdo yourself." And it’s at those words that Junmyeon somehow slips, a mistake in his composure; he flinches so lightly and there are words sloping over his mouth, like he’s angrily trying to convince himself of something — his eyes and mouth move in a hold of rage. "Yes, right. I apologize. There's just—so much work. So much work these days."

"I understand," Kyungsoo offers, giving the man his space, "I'm here for you, hyung. Sehun and Jongin too, you know. We can work through this together."

Silence falls over them, and Kyungsoo knows that Junmyeon is only quiet when he’s distracted. It’s in his silence that he’s defenseless against his thoughts — a self-exposure, of sorts. Junmyeon fights something that’s inherently _himself_ ; Kyungsoo doesn’t interrupt. Times to witness this are rare.

After a while, the man looks up at him, his eyes softening. "Thank you." His hand grabs Kyungsoo's wrist and squeezes, delivering his appreciation. Kyungsoo can’t tell who won — his friend or the image.

"You're the best at what you do, Junmyeon. The greatest." 

Junmyeon smiles slowly, sadly. "I wish that were enough."

Kyungsoo tells him _it is_ , and hugs him before parting, bending more so their necks touch. Junmyeon feels slightly cold. No trembling, no palpitations — just the inert form of an icy body.

Right before he leaves, Junmyeon calls out to him in a detached tone: "Oh, Kyungsoo—the statue entrance is closed tomorrow for repairs. You can take the arena's tunnel for the meetings."

Kyungsoo leaves Junmyeon's office like he came to it: preoccupied, worried, and searching for answers in the silence. He stays outside by the door for a few moments, trying to picture his mentor's face behind him, and thinks maybe Junmyeon is humming his _song_ again. Nothing reaches him.

 

—

 

Jongin has never been to the Night Fair. It’s such a luxury to him that he can’t even spare a consideration at its prospect — the theme park is less of an idea, and more of a _threat_ , with its harsh neon lights, the countless passageways, a matrix of circuits like a motherboard, tiled kingdom for the future. When Kyungsoo offers to him one of Junmyeon's three passes, the man simply stands gawking, daring even to look at the shiny cards; a citizen measures their worth. Jongin declines three times before Kyungsoo can convince him.

"We'll be really busy soon. Let's enjoy this while we can. And I want to enjoy it with you."

Jongin walks into the park — the park walks into Jongin. Inside the main square he stares, head raised and spinning, at the towering modules — carrousels, rollercoasters, rinks — coming alive one behind the other, like layers in a painting. Even when there are no visitors they remain activated, and the park is always alive, always moving in the dead of the night with its blue electric soul — a spirit of machine that owns the area, erasing the trace of man. Tonight, Kyungsoo and Jongin are alone, and it looms over them, thundering sounds and motion detecting their presence, assessing their privilege. Like everyone else, Jongin surrenders. The park is alive with the force of its conquest.

"I—I'm so overwhelmed, I actually don't know what I want to do first..."

"Do you want to get a snack? We just got off from work." Kyungsoo still wears his golden blouse from the morning, but fetched the teal knit sweater he keeps stored under his desk, the one that camouflages him like a plaster against his laboratory walls and makes him feel like he belongs in the colour on the days when they close in on him, when the space around and above him becomes too much. Jongin has his own colourful striped shirt he sports over the pink turtleneck that compliments his warm skin tone, bringing out the purple in his eyes. He points to the serving arcade. "Oh, I want that."

"Let's not eat too much if we want to get on the rides." Kyungsoo moves to the section with him, places his pass on the scanner and looks inside the crystal encasing where pile up the mountains of mixed sweets. He picks a basket to set it beneath the take-out box: "Which one do you want?"

The round starts abruptly, missile blinkers lighting up the frame, and Kyungsoo grips the controls rather clumsily, missing many of the animated rocket's hits on the buttons. Jongin laughs when he fails at the third level — " _MISSION FAILED! TRY AGAIN?_ "

"Here." His play isn’t perfect, but his turns are quick and agile enough to move him past the fifth round, where the words " _MISSION CLEARED! EXCELLENT!_ " pop up on the screen. The machine rings and a flood of chocolate coins drop into the basket. 

They stroll through the waterpark, a furniture terrain where water and light merge into tangible wonders, smooth stones of clear glitter. Jongin sweeps the vacuum's silver dripping lights toward Kyungsoo who splashes him in return. They fall into a chasing game across the gardens and Kyungsoo feels like he’s in a fragile dream, running alone with a lost love in an empty paradise, laughter in each floating step, each dive down the trail of flowers.

He follows Jongin to the disk beds and rides the swing-boat with him three times, delighting in the rush that drives in and out of him as they plunge back and forth. He takes him through the underground rollercoasters and into the excavation tour. Jongin likes how the sound travels inside the caves, likes the hiss and rattle of the cart rippling inside the echo and the rail lights leading them deep into the darkness. He also confesses the setting makes him think of Sehun's old den, with the thousand shining stones, red and blue gems devouring the walls, devouring them. Kyungsoo loses focus; Jongin is running into the past.

"I think I want to stay here forever," he marvels, "with you."

It comforts him, but he grabs onto the man nevertheless: " _You stay here_. With me."

After every ride, they eat a coin; Jongin wants to have dinner when the basket empties. They’re mapping the area for the bigger modules when the plaza meter chimes 9, and Kyungsoo listens with him in silence the melody resounding in the wind. Jongin makes himself go on each of the modules, pulling Kyungsoo by the hand, and at some point after push and pull they reach for each other on instinct. The rides are exciting but it’s Jongin next to him who brings Kyungsoo to a high, Jongin who smiles wickedly and shouts at the top of his voice, arms flailing to the sky above shrouded in the darkness. Jongin whose joy is so infectious, Kyungsoo can’t spare a single look at the city's night view, when the more beautiful sight is just a flutter, a touch, a call away.

"Do you want to go on the spire?" The skyspire is Junmyeon's favorite ride and he made Kyungsoo reach the end level with him on their first visit to the park with Sehun. Kyungsoo was a little more frozen in shock than anything at the top of the spire, breath heaving, hundreds of feet up in the air in an open compartment no bigger or thicker than a glider. Jongin agrees on the condition they make their way up and take the time to see Seoul-D like they rule it, just the two of them, shut away in their fantasy.

"Junmyeon loves this," he says, content. "I'd never been and he directly pressed the last button on the panel. I thought my heart was going to give." The harness falls over them and the cart immediately shoots up the track in a swift motion, wrenching a surprised shout out of Jongin and throwing Kyungsoo into a fit of giggles as it skids to a stuttering stop, just a little over the rooves in front of the section.

"Oh my god, he's crazy," Jongin chokes out, eyes darting down the ride.

"Myeon really likes high places, I don't know why. He made lots of efforts so he could get his office on the higher floors too, at the market." Kyungsoo pats Jongin's hand, clasping the security bars, and scares him by suddenly thrusting his seated body forward, rocking the cart. Jongin jerks away lets out a string of yells. "Don't do that! Hyung, it's not funny!"

When they stop swaying, he presses for the next level on his own and Kyungsoo thinks, bolting up the track and lost in bliss, that they could find a home here, in the peace of automated land, under the hush of the moonlight, forever soaring. Jongin won’t ever have to vanish, if they run together here.

He shuts his eyes and bows his head down between his hands on the bars, two levels before the end, elevated to the sector beacon lights in the horizon. Butterflies in his stomach, Kyungsoo finds himself unable to look too long at the open view in front of them and is reluctant to defy the sight beneath. He actually feels more anxious now than he did with Junmyeon's direct trip. "This is so intense, hyung. I don't understand how you didn't die the last time." 

"I don't know how to really explain it, but Junmyeon has a kind of calming quality in him. When we reached the top, I was almost hyperventilating, and he just smiled, patted me on the back, and told me not to worry. He was so unbothered that I had to relax, you know? Focus on the view. 'Focus on me,' he said. _Focus on me_ , Jongin." The brunet opens his blue eyes and gives Kyungsoo the tenderest look: sweet and naïve, so pure and overflowing.

" _Like this?_ " he teases.

Kyungsoo folds, the gleam in his eyes eclipsing the nightlights. " _We can go higher._ "

Fiercer, faster, so much that it feels like jumping, and falling in a dream, and for a second, there’s _life_  — Jongin and Kyungsoo's screams blending like colours, the gradient of grey and black of Seoul-D streaking downward, the cold and whistle of the night, and finally the emotion _cycling_ inside them, Kyungsoo doesn’t need to sing nor sleep to feel Jongin's soul bound to his in this instant.

Whereas Junmyeon was the face of tranquility and wistfulness, Jongin is grace in the flesh, wonder and rapture in synchronicity, an exhilaration beyond them as he leans in, eye to eye, and the beautiful boy of Kyungsoo's youth professes something like devotion in their rejoicing, _Kai and D.O. and now you and me_ , at the top of the world.

This moment when the city unfolds in front of them like a spectacle, Kyungsoo and Jongin are free, free from the chains of their work and the wars below them, this moment where they rule for real. The recorder on the control panel buzzes for the countdown, and Jongin's fingers intertwine tightly with Kyungsoo's. They plummet to the ground like that: caught in the adrenaline, voices tearing into the night and holding onto the stars, but above all — _together_.  

 

—

 

"Why'd you decide to go in pharmaceuticals?"

They eat in the diner in an elated trance, small plates of spaghetti and romantic lights. "I didn't really want to become a doctor, to be honest. I got into pharmaceuticals at first and thought I could always climb up the field later, if I wanted. But I like it — it's more solitary. What about you? You always loved to fix things up."

Jongin looks euphoric, and Kyungsoo studies him like an art. "I love the science. I knew I wanted to go into motion physics, but I didn't know about bionics yet," his voice surges with passion, "I always needed to move. It's like my soul's own way of breathing, right? So I thought, what if we could reproduce that movement any way we wanted to, in artificial bodies — we could change the world. We could build a moving world, that's what I thought — a world where everyone and everything comes together in harmony. ' _Become one_ ', you know? I was one of the top of my classes because I gave my projects the most _resemblance of life_. I'd look at my own body's movements and program it — flesh to data. Taemin actually told me that the fluidity was even superior than the real thing."

"That's impressive," Kyungsoo praises, completely enamored by the man's spirit. "Do you think you could dance?"

"I do, actually," Jongin admits, blushing slightly. "Well—I used to."

Kyungsoo holds the packet of candy over their plates for him. Jongin's sweet tooth is endearing. "And why not anymore?"

"No more time, I guess."

Fingers on his cheek, he watches him finish his meal, sending lazy smiles when their eyes meet. Kyungsoo’s never been on a real date before, and so his heart melts at the slightest sign and touch. Knees bumping under the table, winks thrown so carefreely, the grazing of their fingertips; each under the other's spell.

At 11, Jongin still refuses to go home, dragging Kyungsoo inside the park club where the empty dancefloor intimidates. "Come on, Soo. These passes cost a life, I want to stay longer. You said we'd enjoy tonight."

"We also have to get up at 6 tomorrow morning," he turns to Jongin, who pouts. "Have you really never been to the Night Fair?"

Jongin shakes his head and scoffs, "Who am I, the General?"

Kyungsoo persists, "You should have been here at least once. Then you never want to leave."

"But hyung, these passes are so expensive. Don't you think we should've saved this for another time?"

"I didn't think we'd have another time soon. Why not take the opportunities when given? We had fun now, we can have fun again, can't we?" Kyungsoo looks up to see the man when he smiles, but Jongin's neutral expression changes to a glare. Kyungsoo tenses when he angles his body away from him and directs his attention to the strobes. 

" _Can't we?_ I'm not a child, hyung, I have a job and a house. Don't lecture me about opportunities."

Without another word, Jongin crosses his arms over his chest and makes his way to the opposite side of the room, walking around the platform, the dismissal stumping Kyungsoo who doesn’t dare move from his spot, eyeing the man with regret. But Jongin preserves his consideration by placing himself directly in front of him, evaluating the sudden change of atmosphere between them.

The sensors activate and rhythmic dance music floods the room, vibrations coursing through the only two visitors. Kyungsoo and Jongin stare at each other under the blinking lights, full black then full bright, held together by the thread of their unmoving gazes. The sight of Jongin flickering, Jongin who vanishes in the dark and materializes just as fast, urges Kyungsoo, and he pushes himself from the console, beelining to him. 

"Hey," he mumbles when he stops in front of the man, "I'm sorry, Jongin. I didn't mean it like that."

Jongin stays quiet for a while, but doesn’t move away. The lighting morphs into a soft indigo, sharpening his features, and Kyungsoo waits for him.

"When I left our old sector," Jongin begins, sounding sorrowful, "I lost everything. We moved to this other sector that was just as bad, but it was actually worse because I didn't have Sehunnie anymore, and I didn't have hyung. I couldn't sleep at all and cried everyday. I hated my life so much. I actually fainted from hunger on some nights — that's how I fell asleep."

Kyungsoo places an encouraging hand on his arm, indicating he listens. Jongin swallows and continues, "Then—then the sector was redistributed. The companies paid us big money to relocate, and we moved into a nicer sector. They even gave us a house. Suddenly everything was better. It was great, and I—" the interruption is accompanied by a wave of memories that crash into him; Kyungsoo sees it in Jongin's changing expressions that it hurts him to speak, "—had everything. _I had everything_ : I ate, drank, I even slept. My parents got jobs too, and the contract even came with a scholarship for me. I was so happy then that I took everything for granted. I became a real brat after I left for the first time, hyung. I wasted a lot of days just playing and enjoying myself. I wasn't a good student, either. No one was happy with me.

Then one night I came home late, again, I was feeling so sick, sick and tired of myself, and the bulletin was on. There was this hexagon on the screen and it was the first time I'd heard of EXO. It was a red report, so I got spooked, and then they showed the picture of that man — the silver star god, or whatever — and I saw how young he was, he was as young as me and fighting his own war, and I realized suddenly how much there was chaos around me. This man was leading a revolution all by himself, and what was I doing? I was given all the opportunities to have a good life and I tossed it aside. Hyung, I was lucky that I still had time. I became so serious suddenly, I scared everybody. But I succeeded in everything at school, my apprenticeship, and now—now I'm here."

He throws Kyungsoo off by dropping his head on his shoulder, and Kyungsoo immediately runs his fingers through the soft copper hair. "I'm here, and I found you again, hyung. I couldn't believe it when you texted me. I thought about you and Sehunnie sometimes, and thought I'd never see you again." Shaking arms wrap around his waist. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Jongin." And after so many years, Kyungsoo doesn’t know how they ever made it through, Jongin, Sehun and him, out of each other's reach. He couldn’t think of ever letting him go again.

"Hyung," Jongin pulls back to rest his forehead against his, and the gesture involuntarily brings Kyungsoo back to a year before, Junmyeon, Sehun and him at the Night Fair on an evening much more crowded than now — they’re on the dancefloor in the heart of a swarm, strangers moving to the beat of the music, the patterns of the lights, and Kyungsoo is caught in the motion, the fever-hot haze of strangers grinding in a mass, lost on a drunken high. Junmyeon, pretty and tipsy Junmyeon dances with him, twirling away from the men and women who approach him and Kyungsoo laughs, laughs because it’s also pitiful, Sehun is at the bar and Junmyeon rocks the torture away, shakes it off like water; impulse and something like _taunting_ carries Kyungsoo to his mentor, pushes against him flush, he grips Junmyeon's fully-buttoned collar and presses his head to his — tired, angry, and _greedy_ — and Junmyeon's hands slide to his shoulders, clenching, _convulsing_ — eyes closed, they lose themselves in the rhythm of their frustrations, envying what they can’t name. In such proximity, Kyungsoo could kiss Junmyeon, he already tastes the quick breaths on the man's tongue, but the thrill is where _he doesn’t_ , where he lets the stress overtake them instead. " _Hyung._ "

"Jongin—" there’s no sort of provoking strain in the room now, no pressure or mislead moments, only the lights that surround and close them into each other, noses brushing and bodies swaying, but he could—he _wants to_ kiss Jongin, purely and heartfelt, gorgeous Jongin who eyes him when he smiles to himself, fostering the curious memory. "What are you thinking about?"

"Last time I went here, with Junmyeon." Before he can elaborate, he sees that Jongin looks irked again.

"You two are pretty close," he purses his lips, "do you think Sehun's jealous?"

" _Do you think Sehun's jealous?_ " Kyungsoo slowly parrots, and concentrates all the heat in his body into the stare he gives Jongin. The music begins to fade, and the lights swirl to a stop.

Kyungsoo has never felt like this before, so eager to relinquish himself to the intimacy, to be buried by a simple look. There’s the erratic _cycling_ in his body, the eruption from his heart that’s far greater than any detonation he’s ever had the misfortune to experience. A bolt-bomb wouldn’t be enough to move him now.

Jongin relents, letting out a happy laugh, and weakly pushes Kyungsoo toward the exit. "Let's go home, hyung."

Their hands link as they step out, the void feeling of mid-night dominating the city. Kyungsoo inevitably falls back into Seoul-D's merciless current, leaving high and dry their lapsing wonderland. The cool air hits him sober. They exit the park gates and amble along the long stream of pillar-lights, exiting the dream on a promenade for the hearts, yearning for more after the end. "Did you have fun?"

"I did," Jongin presses his cheek against his. "Thank you, hyung."

"You're welcome. And congratulations, to us."

Jongin tells him he wishes the night would never end, and it’s in between these few fleeting minutes that the sudden traffic signal on both of their phones reverberates: a hexagon draws itself in the alert on their lockscreens, "SECTOR-V" highlighted beneath the design.

Jongin is surprised, gladly so, and pinches Kyungsoo's hand in his, grinning like a child. "Raid. Guess you're stuck with me," he adds hastily, "I—If that's OK."

And like an exhibition, it begins to rain, drops piercing their loving bubble, and the unanticipated thunderbolt that rips through the sky in terrifying silence washes them in a split-second brilliance, transporting Kyungsoo once again to the edge of their memories, Jongin's eyes are alive with the light of this life, _cycling_ forever. 

" _Let's go home._ "

 

—

 

The storm enters Seoul-D throughout the night, crashing onto Kyungsoo's complex like a blizzard of shards. Jongin wakes multiple times, wakes to the kind of darkness where objects begin to blur when stared at too long, a _red_ and fuzzy obscurity that consumes Kyungsoo's bedroom like a ghost. He wakes in a tremble, out of breath and in chills, Jongin hates to wake up because he’s stayed awake far too long in his life, so lonely in the pieces of the night.

Kyungsoo hushes him back to sleep, tugging him close under the covers, as lightning flashes white in the black of his room. The storm calms before resurging in all its fury, hitting the walls so loudly that Kyungsoo is involuntarily reminded of the shower of bullets, the singing of machines from which he shielded Jongin in another life — unrepentant city and its wrath. It’s in these intervals that Jongin wakes, springs to reality and the nightmare altogether, and he begs to him, "Please—hyung, sing for me, _sing for me_ —" Kyungsoo is so scared that his voice escapes on its own, searching desperately for the remains of a _song_. 

An hour later Jongin will wake again to the thunder, scrambling for Kyungsoo's hand between them, "I'm here, _I'm here_ —" Jongin asks him to sing again, and Kyungsoo does every time, humming, cooing, wrapping Jongin in his arms and his _song_. He’s disappearing when he isn’t asleep, running until he can find the peace in his slumber, and it hits Kyungsoo that Jongin won’t ever have to run if he keeps _cycling_ with him, if Kyungsoo pulls him in they can stay like this forever.

So Kyungsoo sings, sings for Jongin's cries, his smiles, sings over words and missed chances. He pulls Jongin in, Jongin who releases and whose voice joins him, and the last of the song rolls off his tongue, whispered into the night. It’s the realest _cycling_ Kyungsoo has ever felt, so heavy and full — complete. Jongin's song is like a note from his soul; there’s a layer of emotion in the middle of it, and it evokes the hollowness of Sehun’s den, his velvety voice like the voluminous gems and the shine bouncing off the reflection.

In the morning, Kyungsoo pulls them awake. Jongin buries his head in the crook of his neck, and Kyungsoo feels like he went through the earth and back. The sky rumbles, a forewarning of something, _something_ that Kyungsoo remembers in the illuminated numbers of the meter — 08:12. The pull was so strong, they _cycled_ through the sound of the alarm. "Jongin—we're late. Get up."

"Huh—what? What time?" he mumbles, stiff and disoriented. "Hyung?"

"It's past 8, we need to go."

Jongin curses under his breath and they sprint down the door, Kyungsoo collecting his bag and the jacket before he goes to swipe the lock. They re-enter Seoul-D like they left it, in a commanding haste and without time to think of anything but the present. The transit is speeding in the hours after the morning rush, and they make it to the market station at record pace. "It's my second day, they're going to kill me."

"It's fine, I'll file for motivated absence to Junmyeon, he'll make sure they let you be. And it's my fault, Jongin, I'm sorry."

"No, it's OK—I'm sorry. But hyung, what do we do? The main entrance is closed—can we go to the statue?"

Kyungsoo grabs Jongin's hand and dashes toward the gallery plaza, where the sea of people meld over the platinum grounds. In an instant the space around them fills with shoppers, workers, commuters — Seoul-D enters them like a punch, and Kyungsoo truly wants to retch at this feeling of prison, prison of people, crawling, swarming like _insects_ , and unescapable routine. He wants to run away with Jongin, wants to cut their piece of the world from the ashes of a broken nation and live in the skies. In this short-lived fit of hysteria, in the heart of the hive, he wishes he could burn this city.

"Hyung—" Kyungsoo is diligently scanning the area, stopping in his steps when he senses someone walking toward him, a short man with masked hair, shaded lenses, and two silver earrings chained to the shoulder of his suit jacket. He initially takes no notice of Kyungsoo as he brushes straight past him, but then slows down, side-eyeing him without suspicion, without reproach — it’s a look of assessment, establishment, the man just briefly glances at him over his glasses and Kyungsoo comes face to a pair of metallic eyes, the colour sharper than Junmyeon's, and familiar enough. The man turns rapidly and leaves when Kyungsoo feels a shift in his thoughts, déjà-vu but not quite.

The man disappears into a hole, and like a mystery passersby bury him. Jongin then lets go and raises himself on his shoes. "—I think I see Taemin, hang on—"

"Jongin—" But the man plunges into the crowd before Kyungsoo can grab onto him, and just like that Jongin disappears again. Kyungsoo tries to follow his frame through all of the moving bodies, pushing past them, eyes chasing for a glimpse of the man. Slowly, it’s fear that he feels, fear that fuels him and propels him against the horde, Kyungsoo walks into the horror and vice-versa. "Hey!"

The boom that resounds from the sky hits him directly in the stomach, lifts his heart to his throat, and in one simultaneous motion the entire plaza comes to a stop, Seoul-D sucks in a breath in the delay of frightening silence before the screech of the sirens calls for execution — EXO's pale sirens that explode through the entrance. The earth quakes with the bomb, the stampede of people, the agitation, and it’s in a frenzy of absolute dread that Kyungsoo doesn’t fall, the panic that keeps him running because here he is — here he is again, nine years old and fleeing the fire, fleeing death. He’s _D.O._ all over again, screaming his throat dry and dragging _Kai and Sehun_ through the wreckage, blood and glass everywhere, breathing dust. He’s a young boy being choked in a war, a war for dirt and jewels, and he cries because he _can’t be here again_.

"Jongin!"

Kyungsoo shoves against the wave of shoppers driving him the opposite direction, and like this he fights the city, screaming for Jongin, heartbeat in his ears and at the edge of all his nerves — his voice _has_ to find him. He frantically circles the center-square and he _can’t breathe like this_ , trapped in the storm and on the verge of sobs, _going crazy_.  " _Jongin!_ "

"Kyungsoo! _Hyung!_ "

Kyungsoo suddenly catches sight of the clearing ahead near the statue, where the area has quickly emptied, the formation of men and women in an arch raising white batons. Smoke treads over the gates and it’s a picture-worthy scene, demonstrators hauled in solidarity in the face of the burning metal — dead city and its crimes. "Kyungsoo!"

He feels a hand grab his shoulder, and the wisp of darling pink hair against the black havoc has Kyungsoo reeling back, "Junmyeon! Jun—"

"Kyungsoo—What are you doing here?! I told you—Kyungsoo— _stop!_ " he tackles him back aggressively. "We have to leave now!"

"No, Jongin's still there!" Junmyeon has never looked so alarmed and so menacing at the same time, and Kyungsoo rightly jumps out of his skin when the man forcefully takes hold of his arm. "Kyungsoo, _we need to go_ —they're going to tear this place in half! Where's Jongin?"

"I don't know! He went this way—" 

"We can't— _fuck_ ," he pulls him away, struggles, and there’s something in Junmyeon’s eyes that he finally _abandons_ to Kyungsoo. " _Get out._ I'll go—"

"No! I—" another detonation sweeps the area, Junmyeon presses him downward and covers him. "We don't have time, Kyungsoo—" His body flies away from him as he slams his mentor back into the sea of people, and ignores the string of shouts echoing behind him. The ground shakes but Kyungsoo drives himself down until his bones break. He climbs over the fountain level and runs to the clearing, now completely destroyed, and the landscape merges with the one of his memories — he’s crying in the dead of the ruin once more, alone, and the image triggers something inside him, a charge in his body, set in motion, pushing him faster. 

It’s working inside Kyungsoo when he finds Jongin below the glowing arches of the entrance, cornered by a group of onlookers who record the protest inside the clearing, and he yells over the clamor from all sides. "Jongin!" The demonstrators cast their batons down and Kyungsoo recognizes in their following curt movements an activation sequence; the perimeter strings itself in light, blue and green lights spreading to the plaza and climbing up in the cracks of the arches, where everyone finally sees the layers of explosives flattened in the electric sheets. " _Jongin!_ "

The bystanders start running as he turns and gapes at Kyungsoo in terror. " _Hyung!_ "

"Jongin, get d—"

The periphery of the entrance explodes with a blinding light and the charging in the center of his head, which Kyungsoo realizes, too late, is his _Cycle_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again!!! and stay tuned for lots of drama next chapter!!!


	3. Been Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait!!! I hope you all like this chapter!

Sehun cries like he doesn’t have enough time to cry, cries in a race of fear and the need to feel something before he dies. He cries breathlessly, in little gasps and hiccups, holding onto Kyungsoo like a hard wire, hands cut and burning, holding on for his life.

“ _Hyung—I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_ ”

“It’s OK—it’s OK, hyung’s here. What’s wrong?”

The boy chokes on a sob and points. “ _Jonginnie_ …”

The tunnel resembles a mouth, wide open and angry, swallowing up the light. The crust of stone that outlines the entrance undulates like a digital wave, pulsing, pulling Kyungsoo to it. He runs inside the pitch-black cavern, blindly calling for the younger. “Jongin! Jongin?” His voice falls down the path but boomerangs instead of tearing into the echo. He turns in circles and the trail of light outside is gone — he’s alone with the sound: low, deep, and far from kind.

Jongin— _Kai_ materializes from the total darkness in front of him, eyes heavy and unmoving. The empty space vibrates, fast and sharp like an electric charge. A single luminous thunderbolt cuts through his face, streaking back and forth like a metronome, and then from it splits another, zigzagging down to his neck; the bolts multiply and soon Jongin is a vessel, light and colour jouncing inside the shape of his body at undetectable speed. The electricity leaps out to surge toward Kyungsoo and soon it’s too hot, too bright, he forces the exit in the dream, closing his eyes.

As he comes to the surface, there’s the fading trace of a deadened melody he hears calling him for help.

 

—

 

Kyungsoo wakes in the shock — jolts upright with his breath punched out of him, lurching forward, Jongin’s name on his tongue. Nothing registers yet as he’s struck back down, a sharp pain digging at his chest, and the glassy barrel of the gun he sees _paralyzes_ him; Kyungsoo’s body captures the sensation of the bullets as his brain fails to actualize and he goes rigid. The muzzle of the single bead remains unflinching, staring back at Kyungsoo’s bugged out eyes and pushing at his shirt, but still it doesn’t fire. The air caught in his lungs collapses into his throat and his blood rushes back to his body, arms spasming as he shakingly reaches to grab the barrel. Immediately the gun drives into him deeper, and Kyungsoo jerks up.

“He’s awake,” the man with the weapon announces into his recorder. “Don’t move.”

“J—” Kyungsoo gasps, shivering. He’s cuffed to the electric cot — waist, wrists, and throat. The quiver of the blinkers resounds around the small shiny room, where thin crystal windows line each of the walls and red spills in the gaps. A second voice calls from the other side, down the deck. “Status? Are the others...”

“They’re—yeah, they—holy shit.” An alarm buzzes through the com. Kyungsoo’s vision sways, the windows tipping over. “They’re all awake. _They’re all_ —get the General here.”

The sight of his childhood flashes in front of his eyes: the gun on his heart, a second-clasp away from death, the slaughter of every dawn where the knife is over Sehun’s baby brown eyes, the declaration of war Seoul-D has signed on its children, this cold blister of bloodshed where metal meets skin.

Kyungsoo clenches his teeth and shuts his eyes, fleeing the image. He hears the explosion again and remembers Jongin on the checkered field of red and white, red and silver, red and black.

“Hey, don’t sleep,” the monitoring officer calls out to him. “You stay awake, don’t move.”

“ _Jongin_ —” he keeps himself raised when the man warns him again. “No—my friend, he was—”

“I said don’t move! Do you see the gun, boy? Don’t move.”

With a hoarse cry, Kyungsoo lets his head fall back, and the panic floods to his eyes. “Please,” he heaves, “ _please_ — _oh my god_ , I just want to know if he’s safe—”

“Get me backup,” the officer utters into his recorder, “and a pill.”

And like that, Kyungsoo thinks, it’s over. Jongin, Sehun, and Junmyeon, his work, his life: all of it gone. There won’t be chance of returning to the ordinary life, to the invisible kind he built himself into, now that he’s entered the enormity, forced into the core of the city’s regime; no one survives the authority of the guard force. No one leaves the blue chambers without the whistle of demise blowing around them. The slightest smear on a record was equal to social exile. Kyungsoo already lost his life as a boy, and then bled out his soul to win, win over everyone else, win over the city that stepped on him and the ones he loved, and now in just a day—just _one day_ after his institution, all of it goes down the drain.

The pain tears open his chest and Kyungsoo cries, cries his heart out because he won’t have anything left after this, if Jongin is dead.

“ _Please—_ ” the detention room’s doors slide open and enter a row of monitoring officers, armed to the teeth. Kyungsoo hasn’t cried liked this since he was ten-years-old and running near sightless through the falling debris of an exploding building, screaming because _he couldn’t see_ , and the only thing Kyungsoo keeps from that horrifying experience is the ghost of a crushed arm, and the memory that death was a blur in the air.

The pill they break into the syringe is a stimulant that makes Kyungsoo phase in and out of his memories. A moment he’s spitting at the men who touch him, another _D.O._ resurges and wails, and somewhere critical in the synthesis Kyungsoo becomes seized by the despair that’s beyond them both, the pain of a child calling for his mother and the one of a man without hope, and he instinctively— _uselessly_ cries out for his mentor: “ _Hyung! Junmyeon-hyung!_ ” He should’ve listened, and Kyungsoo knows this is all his fault because he couldn’t remember Junmyeon’s words. “ _Hyung!_ ”

The stimulant _burns_ , burns the kind of prickling, spreading heat that has him clenching all over, savagely yanking at the restraints that mark him deep red. Kyungsoo is suddenly hyperaware of his surroundings, the vivid colours and acute sounds that mix in the unconfined fright, outside and in him. The chains are being accelerated into the side-rails and Kyungsoo starts to thrash around when they move in with the mouth-tie, body screaming at the figure of _violation_ ; hands, eyes, black guns circling his child. It’s a _boot_ dominance, all against one, training citizens like mutts, and it kicks brutally into Kyungsoo who can only gag. The ring constricting his throat keeps tightening and he should have lost consciousness by now if he weren’t under the stimulant, but no one in the room relents; he knows he could have been nine-years-old and still they wouldn’t have stopped.

Kyungsoo holds onto everything to count the torture, travelling with the red lines of the wall, the shiny crystal of the windows, the clean scent of the gun polish. He counts the harsh breaths, the slow drops of the drug in the pouches hooked over the cot. He clings on to the thought of Sehun and his toothy grin, Sehun who stayed strong and promised everything to Kyungsoo, _his hyung_ — will Sehun still look up to him now? Could he ever see the boy’s face again?

The fever reaches its peak when he hears the doors whir again, and finally a grave voice interrupts them: “That’s enough.”

The sound of footsteps is amplified to the pounding of drums. All the officers take a step back, breaking the formation around him, “Mr. Park, sir.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes whip up at the name and he freezes. He couldn’t be more awake now, yet it’s against all odds that he enters the certain nightmare, the impossibility of what he spies in the corner of the room: the face of Seoul-D’s youth, the handsome face of doom cut in the porcelain that is the General’s red-haired heir, in his white ensemble and translucent waistcoat.

“You’re stressing him out, can’t you see?” he says simply. “Do you want everyone in the building to die?”

“Sir, his Cycle’s level is unrecorded—”

“Which is why you should be more careful with him, don’t you think?” without even a spoken command, they remove the tie and the binds release. Kyungsoo slumps forward, coughing violently.

“Leave us.”

“Sir—”

It’s a second man, looming behind the General’s son, who casts the glare in the officer’s direction, his alluring black eyes that secures their standing down. The entire unit exits without another word, leaving the three in the room, but nothing at all quiets, the atmosphere races to the edge and the threat only intensifies with the crude display of authority.

Kyungsoo doesn’t dare move anymore. Like anyone else he’s only ever heard of the _man of fire without a face_ , the General’s only son who rules like he hounds, gracelessly and without mercy, in the shadows of the sunless city. The Park clan owns Seoul-D — the Park clan owns them. It’s a war against stainless royalty, and crossing paths is a curse in the country because it means no more than getting involved with the law, asking for a sentence — people live in fear and reverence of the General, the government that never parades, never shows itself. Ideals remain untouchable, obey what you can’t see. It’s a crime to encounter God.

“Forgive us for the welcome,” he orders plainly, stalking toward him. Even lying down, Kyungsoo can tell he’s tall, much taller than Jongin, and perhaps even more than Sehun. His hair is the kind of rubies, fiery and luscious, and colours his head dauntless. “It’s OK, now. I’d like to introduce myself — I’m Park Chanyeol. I know your name, I know your number and your occupations, too. Do you know why you’re here?”

For a second, the only thing Kyungsoo understands is that Chanyeol’s presence is absolutely _destructive_. His voice and movements are synched in a flow that encircles him in a kind of blazing ring, preventing Kyungsoo from peering too close into his demeanor. He’s the kind of villains whose physical responses define his threat rather than his words — tics, posture, a suggestion of force. It freaks out from the details. There’s a precision that controls him, too quick and too calculated, so much it feels justly _volatile_ — Chanyeol leans forward and Kyungsoo strains to keep himself upright, to not let himself be intimidated by this myth of a giant and the burning power he exudes. One wrong move and it ignites.

The silver bars of the shaded eyeglass Chanyeol wears on his left eye carve an intricate pattern over his thick eyebrows, and the strange accessory forces Kyungsoo to stare at the right side of his face instead. “I’m…”

“That’s all right, maybe you don’t remember.” He smiles a vicious smile, malice from the heart, and turns his head to the other man who robotically advances to present a camera monitor in front of Kyungsoo. The footage is the one of the plaza next to the statue entrance, filled with shoppers and workers. The man presses on the screen and the frame freezes on Kyungsoo in the middle of the crowd, exchanging the look with the stranger in the masked hair and chained earrings. From the new angle, Kyungsoo sees he’s holding a remote.

With the flick of a finger, the footage changes to another channel, that of the statue entrance where the demonstration unfolds. Kyungsoo witnesses the terror once more, watches himself running too late toward the arches where Jongin’s figure stands in shock between the fleeing bystanders. “ _Hyung!_ ” comes his distorted cry over the white noise; Kyungsoo’s heart wrenches. Just as the light surges inside the perimeter, a bright flare erupts from his upper body, and without warning, blasts intensely into the feed that stops at the rather amusing image of the plaza, where the few remaining people simultaneously drop to the ground, like chess pieces knocked over.

The dark-eyed man withdraws, and Kyungsoo realizes his jacket has been stripped from him.

“128,” Chanyeol announces calmly, “including some of my best guards who were approaching the scene. All of them just woke up when you did. So you’ll understand why we took our precautions with you.”

“Where’s…” Kyungsoo bites his tongue and swallows. The throbbing in his chest is angry and refuses to let him breathe. “I—I don’t understand.”

“You know the story of the girl in the shuttle? Years ago, that crash on the skyscraper sector. She pulled everyone in her Cycle when she fell asleep; that’s what you did today, when your jacket absorbed the light energy of the demonstration. You got electrocuted, of sorts, and blacked out. The entire place got pulled in.”

It rings in Kyungsoo’s ears and he drenches in the cold sweat, jaw slack in disbelief. He closes his eyes and thinks back to Junmyeon against the sunset, telling him how skilled he must be. Jongin and Sehun sleeping under his spell. “I— _no_. I couldn’t have _. I’m not_ —”

“A Cyclist? You’re wrong. I know a Cyclist when I meet one. Well, it’s no 1500 people,” the redhead jeers, “but still, pretty impressive. Would you like to see again? What I’m here for is this, though.” His associate returns to the first feed and focuses the frame onto Kyungsoo and the passerby. His profile is strikingly familiar, the sharp face and eyes behind the shades, but still he can’t seem to recognize the man, quite young and attractive, who he sees is missing the identification number on the automated register: _COMMANDER 1_ — _‘STAR’_.

“I don’t… I don’t know who that is.”

“Today’s demonstration was EXO, as always. You’re going to tell me everything.”

Chanyeol speaks in orders, dominates every exchange in rightful entitlement. He speaks without any trace of hostility, feinting discretion, but unlike Junmyeon his courtesy is ill-brought, scary, chilling Kyungsoo to the bone because Chanyeol almost looks _happy_. He talks in an imperceptible sadistic tone that feels like he already knows everything about him, even that which Kyungsoo himself is unaware of: “You’re telling me you’ve never seen _Star_ , EXO’s leader?”

“I’m—” It hits; the journals, the bulletins, every strip of news on his phone, a face he never sought interest to inspect. _Star God_ , _Silver King_ , the face of EXO. Kyungsoo firmly shakes his head. “—no. No, I have nothing to do with this! We just glanced at each other, I’ve never met him! _I’m not EXO_.”

“Well, your actions here at the statue agree with you, I’ll give you that. You’ve ruined the demonstration, actually, they couldn’t complete it.” Chanyeol tilts his head. “You’re not exactly a hero either, however. Tell me how strong your Cycle is.”

“ _I’m not a Cyclist!_ ” Kyungsoo shouts, tugging at the chains. “I didn’t want any of this— _Jongin_ , Jongin, he’s my friend, I was running after him because he was right beside the explosion. I just—I need to know if he’s safe—”

Chanyeol turns the dial on the pouch, driving the drug deeper into Kyungsoo who pulls away with a clear scream. Every nerve in his strapped body compels him to _move_ , making him flail and writhe on the cot, and like the play of evil Chanyeol gently kneels beside him, his height enabling him to settle just above the top spring. The redhead’s wide grey eye is even more jarring than the glassy barrels of the guns. He looks at Kyungsoo like a fond man over his lover in a hospital bed.

“What do you have to do with EXO? I won’t ask again.”

Kyungsoo jerks furiously, gasping hard. “ _Nothing!_ I’m not fucking EXO! I was late to work with Jongin and I was told not to go to the statue because it was being repaired, but I didn’t remember, I didn’t remember and we got caught in the explosions! I swear, _please_ —I swear to god, I swear on my life.”

“Your life doesn’t mean anything to me, though. So I don’t believe that,” Chanyeol says at once. Kyungsoo’s retort dies down in his throat, and the prince’s expression remains so merry, so undisturbed that he couldn’t feel any less in danger now. His body boils in rage, melting pink and black in his vision.

“I’m not EXO,” Kyungsoo spits. “ _I won’t say it again._ ”

Chanyeol draws back then, looks around like he’s pondering. It’s impossible to decipher what comes and goes upon his smooth face, and this partially because half of it is obstructed by the peculiar eyeglass. It makes him look less like a man and more a machine, one that studies to destroy, not to kill, a machine that seeks to devastate in the most monstrous way possible. Seoul-D’s son is a beast with his own key to his leash.

“Your friend—Jongin is his name, is that right? Kim Jongin? The man here near the arches? He’s the reason you’re here, isn’t he?”

The sudden questions deter Kyungsoo, and the slow smile the man sends his way has his blood run cold. “Where is—is he here?”

“Yes, he’s being monitored with the others.” To Kyungsoo’s surprise, Chanyeol swipes the lock on his chains, and very carefully moves the syringe. “You’re strong, you know that? Your Cycle is strong.”

The alleviation is accompanied by hot tears: “I want to see him.”

Chanyeol barely twitches. “You’ll cooperate, then.”

Kyungsoo’s relief is greatly encumbered by the awful apprehension at the man’s words, at the subtle keenness in his unanticipated gestures. Chanyeol smiles with his eye shifting its focus, unseen, impenetrable, and Kyungsoo feels too exposed, the small shivers that run up his neck but the pure effect of the man’s fixed look. He’s never been less sure about a person’s intentions; Chanyeol acts like a time-bomb.

And like that the redhead turns back to the door, leaving the black-eyed man to step in his place and leer at Kyungsoo. His heavy gaze pulls him in like easy rope, and Kyungsoo through the cloud of agitation submits and is subdued, follows the order in the full stare of captivation, sharp and dark like a wolf — _walk_.

Kyungsoo stumbles toward the exit, hands trembling at his sides. He treads between Chanyeol who radiates his terrible energy and his partner whose eyes he feels burning at the back of his head. They walk for so long that Kyungsoo feels like they’re going in circles. The distance to the elevator is so far enough to indicate how deep inside the city’s precinct they are and how rigorously he was being kept. There don’t seem to be many chambers like Kyungsoo’s inside his zone of the maze.

The corridors are long and empty, metal reverberating in the space. Blinkers stroll each side of the narrow walls, making the detention zone resemble a somber powerplant buried underground. But unlike the Night Fair, it feels like a decrepit prison, rotting slowly with its captives below the fair surface. Silver, slate, smoke in paper and hanging silence — the halls of the blue chambers aren’t so different from the ones at the laboratories.

The only guards on the floor are the ones posted in front of the transport bay, and they all bow curtly when the General’s son steps onto the platform, restraining themselves from pointing their heads at the unsecured detainee wobbling behind him. Chanyeol looks at no one, and Kyungsoo sees that no one can look at him either.

Chanyeol speaks again inside the elevator: “Do you sing?”

Kyungsoo falters. His wrung-out mind chases the thought of a time in the past, but the stimulant is too overwhelming for him to reflect clearly. Chanyeol makes a soft humming noise that booms inside his ears.

The level where Jongin is put is a brutal contrast to his: chambers and compartments hold the passages like walls, and the patrolling officers come and go in swarms. It’s too bright and too loud for Kyungsoo’s triggered senses. The eyes of monitored patients follow the unmistakable frame of Park Chanyeol as they pass, some peering suspiciously at Kyungsoo. The idea that _he’s the one responsible for this, he did this_ , to Jongin and every other innocent person he pulled into his _Cycle_ here, sends a wave of nausea crashing into him.

Chanyeol directs them inside a defense motor and the three skate up the gangway where the prisons cower below. The door they approach is a solid vault different from the rest of the compartments on the lower deck. Chanyeol finally turns back to him, towering like he is, and declares the area in the medical unit.

“Your friend sustained some injuries, _but it’s all been taken care of_ _._ ” His tone changes all of a sudden when he leans down and simpers, “Your friend’s Cycle is _very weak_ , did you know that? It can be dangerous — you’ll look out for him.”

Kyungsoo’s throat goes dry; he watches intently as Chanyeol raises an eyebrow and chuckles cruelly. The door slides open and Kyungsoo sees Jongin seated on a homebed, scraped over the face and his left leg in bandages.

Everything disappears then, the lights, the witnesses, Kyungsoo’s heart leaps and launches him over the platform — _he’ll make it this time_. His body burns where he holds Jongin tight against him, the scorching touch, the devouring love, and Kyungsoo lets it consume him whole. “ _Jongin_ —are you—”

The arms that snake around his sides are reserved, unassuming. Kyungsoo pulls away and looks, too overwrought to speak — Jongin _rests_ , face sensible. “Kyungsoo?”

He rasps, retreating steadily, “Jongin, are you OK? Can you stand? I’m so sorry—”

“I’m OK,” he answers, “I’m OK.” Jongin pulls him back in and Kyungsoo surrenders, yields to the aching emotion that has him sobbing into the brunet’s shoulder, breathless apologies falling over his wet mouth. “I’m so sorry, _I’m so sorry—_ ” Jongin’s gaze moves to Chanyeol behind the door, Chanyeol who smiles sweetly at Kyungsoo when he turns. He reaches for Jongin’s hand, squeezing, and finds the younger standing to pull him toward the exit. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to leave.”

“We’re going,” Kyungsoo croaks. “ _We’re going home_.”

He cautiously follows Jongin who totters out the chamber and stops as they come face with their supervising company. Chanyeol seems to bask in a satisfaction at their reunion, and the observation takes place between them, unnoticed, a secret communication of sorts. His grey eye is searching for something.

Kyungsoo glares at him murderously when he places a hand on Jongin’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

“You’re letting us go?”

“You want to stay here?”

Chanyeol’s laugh is loud and blithe. Jongin backs away from him, and the man shoots him a curious look. “Don’t worry, Minseok will show you out.”

The short man with the alluring eyes, Minseok, arches his neck in signal. Jongin’s hand catches Kyungsoo’s and he nudges them forward to the motor where the man awaits. Chanyeol keeps them in his sight, anchored in his spot, and waves at Kyungsoo like friends parting ways when the motor rotates. Kyungsoo avoids his gaze and tries to focus on his breathing, thinking of Jongin again in his arms and the both of them far away from here. The General’s son vanishes over the gangway as they descend, the flames of his dreadful aura dying out.

“Kyungsoo, are you OK?” Jongin whispers flatly in the back of the motor. “Did they hurt you?”

“They gave me a stimulant,” Kyungsoo replies, swallowing the bile in his throat. “I really don’t feel good, but it’s OK. Did they do anything to you?” The guilt that creeps over him is like a slap in the face; _he’s_ the one who hurt Jongin, _he’s_ the one who literally pulled him into the mess.

“I’m OK,” Jongin repeats. “My leg stings a little.”

“This is all my fault—” he shakes, drawing back tears. “I should’ve remembered to not go to the statue. I’m so sorry.”

The younger turns to him, “What was happening there? At the statue?”

“Junmyeon told me it was going in repairs… Do you think EXO—” Kyungsoo glimpses at Minseok in front of them, and lowers his voice, “Do you think they planned this? To attack when the space was cleared?”

“I don’t know. What did it look like?”

“What?” he blinks. “What do you mean?”

Jongin looks perplexed, lost in thought. “You saw the demonstration, Kyungsoo… didn’t you?”

“I was—looking for you. You were at the center too, you saw the lights, right?”

“Yeah, I just…” he trails off, “don’t remember much, I guess.”

The motor climbs onto the transport platform that propels them up to the ground level. Minseok doesn’t speak, but listens attentively to their silence. He parks them inside the main station and wordlessly instructs them to exit. Every attendance guard gives him a salute when he passes; Park Chanyeol acknowledges it with indifference, but his associate seems to disregard the address completely. He walks ahead in frigid calm. Jongin is taken to the desk for injury discharge and Minseok directs Kyungsoo to a checkroom where a service cart speeds up to them, carrying in locked boxes his jacket and bag.

Kyungsoo’s heart sinks when he sees Sehun’s flight jacket, singed around the hems, the zipper snapped, and blackened lines marking the crushed fabric. He puts it on quickly, tugging repeatedly at the sides to salvage the style. He opens his bag from the second box and checks his phone: 24 messages and 10 missed calls from Sehun. 1 missed call from Junmyeon. 12:08. Central Market Sector. A hexagon.

It puts Kyungsoo out of his mind — how could Park Chanyeol, _prince of doom_ and next in line for most powerful man in the country, release Kyungsoo so easily, Kyungsoo who perfectly incapacitated an entire plaza, unit guards, and a full demonstration of the most infamous rebel group in the East? Leveled Cyclists were automatically identified and condemned. Wasn’t he an enemy of the state now?

It startles him out of his worry when Jongin’s capsule kit falls out of his bag with a loud clattering noise. Minseok reaches for it first, but just as Kyungsoo leans down the man suddenly _freezes_. Minseok stares hard and long at the item, hand slowly crumbling into a fist like he’s afraid, before looking up in alarm at Kyungsoo with the feline eyes of his. His mouth opens, thin lips readying to deliver something dramatic, but nothing still. He picks up the capsule kit and hands it over with a kind of disinclination, and Kyungsoo wonders if the man has a voice at all.

Minseok does speak when they reach the reception of the precinct: “We’ll be seeing you.” His voice is small and clean. Kyungsoo gives him a black look that shifts in unease, and he grabs Jongin who hurriedly pushes him out the door.

Seoul-D greets them grimly. The stimulant still has to faint away in his body, and Kyungsoo feels so _watched_. The overcast sky, the growling earth, the seething colours of the buildings in the horizon, the airless space. Everything seems to inch toward him in reproach, warning a revenge for his shocking offense. _The city has been attacked_. And Kyungsoo is the agent.

“I can’t believe all of this. I can’t believe we met Park Chanyeol. I’m so sorry.” He turns and finds Jongin staring out, appearing distracted. He’s as rigid as a statue. But the sight of the small abrasions lining his cheek and jaw drives a knife into Kyungsoo’s heart. “Jongin?”

They both startle as a shout is thrown their way; a lone man, outside a compact motor down the stair-path, scurries over to them. Kyungsoo recognizes Officer Lee— _Taemin_ with his thick chalk-white hair, fine lips, and the muteness in his upset expression. But Jongin seems fazed. It takes a moment before he calls back: “T—Taemin.”

The man _crushes_ Jongin into his arms. He puts a hand over Kyungsoo’s ear. “Kyungsoo—are you two OK? Did they do anything to you?” He looks down at Jongin’s leg, blank eyes full of fright. “Oh my god.”

“It’s OK,” Kyungsoo says, and Taemin hustles them down the stair-path. “We’re OK. They let us go…”

“ _They let you go?_ ” he exclaims, incredulous. “They didn’t revoke anything? Jongin, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Jongin answers, “I just want to leave.”

The arm around his shoulder hangs; Taemin’s eyes rake up and down Jongin's body, in a slow but disordered examination. He stops for a second, before moving them inside the motor, tossing Kyungsoo a confused look. Jongin seats himself in the back without a word and Taemin charges the vehicle down the route, so fast that they tear through a lined light. He informs them that the market has been officially closed for the day, a first in many years.

Jongin glares at the crystal as they enter the Unit Tunnel, swerving into the darkness. Kyungsoo holds his hand, fingers loose, but the younger doesn’t look at him. It’s impossible to ignore how enervated he looks, the listlessness in his speech, the almost crudeness that animates his movements, missing fragments in his hooded eyes — _dull_. “Are you sure you’re OK?” Kyungsoo asks.

“I’m really fine,” he responds right away. “It’s just… I was really scared back there. I was all alone… I just wanted to leave.”

Jongin’s hand slips away to rub at his temple, face scrunching up and hissing in pain. Kyungsoo reaches for him when Taemin turns on the tuner. A fixed melody plays over the calm whir of the motor speeding down an empty path — Taemin pivots, swaps the gear in error. He takes two more turns and the grids on the panes suddenly dissolve with the blinkers inside the tunnel, leaving the motor to drown in the odd darkness.

No signals. What blocks Kyungsoo’s train of thought isn’t the sudden tenebrous setting but the stillness of the silent moment, closing in, waiting; the very heavy static in the music, the low tremor of the motor swimming in the dark — no one makes a sound. Everything seems to slow down at once, tension rising, and his body braces out of his control. He meets Taemin’s blank gaze in the mirror, unnerving, the ex-officer who drives them deeper in the tunnel, out of the circuit.

“ _Taemin?”_ Kyungsoo hesitates.

The man turns to him first, and his eyes then fall over Jongin. “I’m really sorry about this.” There’s little hesitation in the way he draws out the bolt-gun, and fires at them unblinking.

 

—

 

Junmyeon’s _song_ is pure love, it’s _good_ , heartfelt, a pleasant air that brings to mind the lilac ponds of the Town Square, blooming and flowing in the spring breeze. Soothing colours, slight body. He sings like the love that’s kind, light, and dreamy. Kyungsoo thinks he could sing like he loves, and could love like he sings. Full. Happy. Boundless.

He opens his eyes, and the hand caressing his cheek moves to rest on his forehead. Delicate fingers stroke the side of his eyebrow, curling over to his temple. Junmyeon hums softly, his touch tender, and Kyungsoo keens, nestling himself closer to his warm body. His arm drapes over the man’s waist and Junmyeon’s other hand covers his own. Kyungsoo’s gaze falls behind him, where Jongin lies awake on the bed with them in an equal state of languor. He lazily turns back to Junmyeon, whose eyes are sad. “Where’s Taemin?”

Junmyeon lets out a tranquil sigh, interrupting his lullaby. His hand moves to pet his hair and he answers in a low, hushed voice. “He’s at the market.”

Kyungsoo flutters his eyelashes at him. “He stunned us.”

His mentor never breaks their gaze. “I know.”

Kyungsoo spaces out for another few beautiful minutes, thoughts flowing out with Junmyeon’s _song_. He wants to fall asleep like this, cuddled with him and Jongin, out of the world’s reach. A universe in their _Cycle_.

“Myeon?”

“Hm?”

“Where are we?”

Junmyeon’s breath stutters and his hand slows down. Kyungsoo sees the movement in his pale throat where he swallows hard. Their fingers lace. “ _We’re in EXO_.”

Nothing comes out of Kyungsoo’s mouth. His eyes glide over their bodies and sweep the room — white, square, no windows. Hanging from the ceiling are three crystal bulbs and small leafy plants. Their bed rests with them in the center. He looks at Junmyeon and squints.

“ _Why?”_

Not _what, how, when_ — Kyungsoo asks for his reason, asks for his resolve. Junmyeon clenches their hands.

“Because they want to see you.”

Kyungsoo’s senses are in a slow race back to him. He releases Junmyeon’s hand and reaches back for Jongin. Junmyeon closes his eyes and raises himself up. He sits and stares down at them, stroking Kyungsoo’s arm. Kyungsoo wants to say: _what do you mean, why are you here_. But everything about Junmyeon’s expression locks him in misery.

With a creak, the wooden door in front of them opens and another man walks into Kyungsoo’s field of view. His eyes make pair with Junmyeon’s, along with his silver hair and the round piercing on his lower lip attached to his collar. It’s the beautiful man with the shades and the chained earrings.

“You,” Kyungsoo starts, “you’re the one I saw at the market.”

 _Star_ ’s face is calm, face too serious to incite a reaction from Kyungsoo. Junmyeon doesn’t move an inch.

“You’re Do Kyungsoo,” he greets. “You’re responsible for the _Cycling_ this morning.”

“No,” Kyungsoo shakes his head, still without enough energy to move properly. He scowls at the man. “You did this. You hurt all those people.”

“You’re the one who wasn’t supposed to be there,” he disputes, curling his lip in disdain. “You were wrong to disregard the warnings. You’re at fault.”

“ _For what?_ ” Kyungsoo growls. Junmyeon keeps his hand on his chest when he attempts to pitch himself up. “This was EXO’s doing. You attacked the market.”

“And you sabotaged the most crucial phase of our operations,” the _Silver God_ raises his hand; the wristwatch he wears projects a holographic print of the statue entrance and the plaza. “Which you’re going to repay.”

“What?” Kyungsoo hisses just as Jongin budges beside him. The man groans, and he goes to clasp his hand straightaway. “Jongin?”

The brunet abruptly throws himself down, eyes rolling back, and the panic that floods Kyungsoo finally succeeds in stirring him awake. Jongin gasps a choked-out breath and cries out: “ _Hyung!_ ” His hands flail to Kyungsoo’s sides, scratching frantically, and Junmyeon holds his shoulders down. “H—” For a brief instant, something flashes inside the younger’s eyes, a blurry reflection, and it vanishes just as quick; Kyungsoo thinks it’s his imagination that the colour of his irises grow dim. “Jongin!”

Jongin shakes and wheezes, gaping up at them. His eyes land on _Star_. “ _Where are we?_ Wh—what sector is this?”

“None of your concern,” the commander affirms, frowning at him. “What matters is you and your _Cycle_ now, Do Kyungsoo. The Park regime will hunt you down days from now, since you’ve been so _magnificently_ outed as a leveled Cyclist. An _exceptional Cyclist_ , I’ll add. EXO offers you a place among our ranks. You’ll assist us in completing the _breach_.”

“Wh— _Excuse me?_ ” Kyungsoo stills, mad with indignation. Spit trickles from where his mouth hangs, teeth baring angrily. “Do you know what I went through today? Do you know how much I suffered and sacrificed to live the life I have now? You think I’m going to throw everything away because of what _you_ did today? You think I’m going to let you threaten me like this — I’m not going to fucking work for _the leader of EXO!_ ”

Kyungsoo’s tirade explodes into the silence. _Star_ stares at him attentively, judging something, and his small mouth twitches upward as to mock him. He keeps his steel eyes on him as his head turns gracefully, and then leaves the foot of the bed without a sound. Kyungsoo watches him go, studies the explicit frame where the silver-haired man retreats and where Junmyeon, worn and solemn Jumnyeon remains inside, next to him, the same dusty eyes cast down, and quiet with a sentiment, a _bad_ sentiment.

The record plays the frame like it’s broken. Junmyeon stares. The current shifts inside Kyungsoo when he _sees_ the picture, cut out so bluntly, when the intention becomes told, when at last he grasps the moving faces in front of him, the confession of shame.

“No.” That’s all he says, because the blade will end up in his mouth before his heart can bleed. “ _No_.”

“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon begins, still looking down. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“No. No,” Kyungsoo shakes his head, teeth grinding down on a hoarse cry. “You can’t—”

“Kyungsoo—”

“ _No!_ ” he shouts and pushes himself up, clawing at Jongin who recovers. He burns a glare into his mentor’s falling face. “You—how could you? _EXO?_ You work at the market! You’re the secretary of the department!”

“Kyungsoo, listen to me!” Junmyeon’s eyes are pleading. “I’m—I never prepared to tell you this. I never thought I would. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” But Kyungsoo has been _done_. Goes deaf with the blow that strikes him. Drugged, drained, _hurt_ — rage blinds him, possesses him, he’s _livid_. Junmyeon’s form goes hazy, his image splits where Kyungsoo’s thoughts battle for a grasp on his words. It spills out of him like _dirt_. “How could you do this? _You’re the leader of EXO?_ ” Jongin’s head snaps up. “ _What?_ ”

“Kyungsoo, I’m sorry.” Junmyeon flinches when Kyungsoo backs away from his touch.

“You lied to me!”

“I never lied about anything to you! Please—”

“We almost died today, Junmyeon!” he barks out. “Park Chanyeol tortured me!”

“I’m sorry! You weren’t supposed to be there today! I told you not to go to the statue!”

And it hurts, it _hurts_ _—_ Junmyeon's admission pours over him and all he can hear is the roaring inside his body. The pain is clouding and orders his every move. “No! _You_ would’ve never let this happen! _Hyung_ _wouldn’t do this to us!_ ” And it’s this, the most ruthless part of Kyungsoo’s mind that digs it out, the ways he knows to get the hurt, to evacuate the hurt. “This isn’t about me! Or— _or is it?_ Do you think I’m a menace, Junmyeon? Is this why you ask about my singing? My _Cycle?_ All these years—were you just out to get me? Were we even friends? _Does Sehun even know—_ ”

“Don’t fucking bring Sehun into this! This has absolutely nothing to do with him!” Junmyeon yells, yells loud and vicious. His outburst shocks Kyungsoo and even _Star_ seems unsettled at the way he steels himself forward, face twisted, _wrathful_. “How can you even ask me that, have these years meant nothing to you? Do I mean nothing to you? Is this how you see your _hyung_ all of a sudden?”

Kyungsoo shudders and shrinks away from the force of his tone. This is the man of the storm who rules inside the surface of his mentor, the face of rage that Junmyeon keeps under scars. The dead stare that bears into him is so mad yet so remorseful — _Junmyeon-hyung is screaming at him_ , and Kyungsoo smothers the pitiful sob that rips out of him like a tide.

“I gave up everything for you, Kyungsoo,” he cries, and the face of the man he knew cracks with his voice. “I’m under all this pressure, running my ass off in my office, waiting, and what do I see? What do I fucking see on my monitor? You—running into the demonstration. Did you know what I felt then? What went through my mind? Absolutely nothing—I didn’t hesitate a fucking second, Kyungsoo. I gave up the entire operation to go save you. I was—I was ready to end it all! All of it, just to go get Jongin for you. _Why?_ Why did I think that, then? How could I give up everything for you? How could I give up EXO, my entire life's work, for you? I jeopardized the rest of the _breach_ for you, Kyungsoo—look at me!" he breaks down, howling, " _Look at me!_ Why won't you look at _hyung?_ Look at me—Kyungsoo, look me in the fucking eyes and tell me that I don’t care. Say it. Tell _hyung_ that he doesn't care about you!”

Junmyeon buries his head in his face and cries, cries his entire heart out, and Kyungsoo can’t take it anymore. The tears stream down his face and he messily grabs for Junmyeon, sweet and gentle Junmyeon, whimpering, begging, “I’m sorry— _hyung, I’m sorry_ —” and holds the lamenting man in his arms.

The sound of the door opening and closing barely reaches Kyungsoo, but glancing over he sees that both _Star_ and Jongin are gone. It crashes into him like a deluge, the truth, the gravity of the situation. _EXO_. _The War_. They’re in the middle of a secret history, and _Junmyeon is writing it_.

“Myeon,” he gasps, “ _Junmyeonnie-hyung_ —I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m— _I love you_ , Kyungsoo,” the elder sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

“I love you too, I love you…” And Kyungsoo finally sees it, all the years, sleepless nights, the faces made up and traded, Junmyeon is a man holding on to _threads_.

“I don’t want you here,” he pulls him away, eyes red and mouth trembling. “You shouldn’t be here, Kyungsoo, I’m so sorry. I’m terrible, I’m so terrible. I love you so much, and I love Sehun so much too — I live day to day in fear of losing you both because I’m— _I’m EXO_. _I am the leader of EXO_ , Kyungsoo. And all I’ve tried to do was protect you two. I never wanted you to know, please believe me—I never had any other intentions. Even if I always knew you were a _Cyclist_... Your _song_ is so strong, _god_ —you have no idea. I thought you were skilled at first, but then I—I heard you sing, that night of your birthday at the faculty — we were out of our minds. I knew it was done for. And Sehun— _I just wanted to protect you_.”

Kyungsoo tries to comfort him, whispering his apologies, kissing wet eyes. “ _Hyung_ …”

“I don’t want you here, Kyungsoo. You were never supposed to get involved with this. Involved with me. We should’ve never—” and the man bites his lip, breathes out shakily.

“No, no, don’t say that, _hyung_ —” Kyungsoo hiccups, “I wouldn’t give up anything for that night we met. I couldn't be here without you. That night, that stupid, impossible night when Sehun pushed me and I just—totally embarrassed myself in front of you.” It rouses a coughing giggle out of Junmyeon, and Kyungsoo smiles so hard. “I ruined your hair. I was so mortified… I'm sorry. My sunbae-nim, my hyung, my _Myeonnie_ …”

And Junmyeon finally laughs, cups his face, and through the shed tears his eyes screw up in glee. They fall fast, though, the gruelling weight of the reality that sinks in. Junmyeon shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t want you involved with EXO’s operations.”

“I can’t go home…”

“No, it’s too dangerous now. They’ll take you…” Junmyeon sighs, sniffling. “We’ll keep you here.”

They catch their breaths in the silent pause that follows, picking up the pieces. Kyungsoo has never seen his mentor so tired, so broken, _defeated_. He eyes the door, thinking about Jongin, _Star_ , and Park Chanyeol's shadow taking shape over them. “What’s going to happen, hyung?”

“The _breach_ ,” he utters throatily, “Under the statue plaza was a weapons compound. We were supposed to break into it today, collect everything, and go into the city’s Underground. We have to move soon, because of the mishaps. He'll want to know the plan, I—I need to go to talk to him...”

Kyungsoo gulps, nods slowly. "OK." Junmyeon looks at him one last time, expression sorrowful and forsaken. He hugs Kyungsoo close to him for a full minute, breathing soundly. "I'm sorry, Kyungsoo. I really am."

"Me too," Kyungsoo says. "I love you, Junmyeon."

"I love you too."

Junmyeon reluctantly lets him go and drags himself to the door first, leaving Kyungsoo to his moment. It settles into him slowly, the heavy feeling of injury after a long numbing cry. He curls up alone in the bed, counts to 100, before he pulls himself to his feet, trudging out of the room before he can think of hurting himself further.

Fingers on the handle, his thoughts stray to the melody of Junmyeon's _song_ , his serene voice and the ways he must sing to forget, forget who he is behind the curtain. What can Kyungsoo think of him now? Has Junmyeon changed at all, or is he still his mentor — his friend?

Kyungsoo focuses, transfixed, when the tune echoes inside him, soothing the rapid beating of his heart. Junmyeon sings elsewhere, sings for him; Kyungsoo closes his eyes and hums back his own _song_ , guiding his _Cycle_. _I'm here, it's OK_. He feels the connection in drops, seeping through his mind, and fleeing like the touch of fingers brushing. It passes like a light.

Jongin is standing alone outside the room, in the vast floorless foyer where many people, followers and participants of EXO, run across with locked boxes of cargo. Neon lights cast the dark tiled walls, giving them a savory party glow. The ground is littered with shards of crystal and broken papercraft, and there rests strange equipment in every corner of the room: amps piled up together, old vinyl records under classic televisions, figurines, building tools, period-modeled furniture, pink kites blowing off into the growing greenery. Kyungsoo has never seen a stranger place.

Jongin looks steadily at it all, scanning every piece of the room. He barely notices Kyungsoo when he comes up to him and pays no mind to his state of dejection. It disheartens Kyungsoo to no end.

"Jongin," the man turns, alert, "Jongin, what's wrong?"

He shrugs like he’s annoyed. Kyungsoo's patience tires out. "Jongin, you've been acting strange since we got out. What's going on?"

"Nothing," he replies. "I'm exhausted."

"Do you want to go?"

The brunet shakes his head. " _Star_ said we couldn't leave." He gives Kyungsoo a pointed look. "Are you going to join them?"

" _What?_ "

"Are you going to join EXO?"

Kyungsoo knits his brows in vexation, leaning back as he draws out the _poison_ in Jongin's eyes. When had they become so cold? The lights cast his hair in a frosted pastel, a weak paleness that agrees with the cold expression he wears on his bruised face. All the purity of yesterday's romantic evening washes out.

"No," Kyungsoo says sternly. "I'm not _—_ Jongin, are you mad at me? What's wrong?"

"No. I'm—" Jongin seems to ignore his distress, glancing around the room, when his head brusquely dips. He sighs very loudly, licks his lips, and then raises himself with renewed fervor. He turns to Kyungsoo so swiftly that it feels like being caught in a trap. The man's jaw is contracted, his pulse visibly jumping. " _Kyungsoo-hyung_. I'm just worried."

"Worried—what are you worried about?"

" _Park Chanyeol_ ," he tells him, voice clear and deep. "We just got out of the precinct after what you did today... I'm so scared. I was really scared, _Kyungsoo-hyung_ —they pushed me around and told me that I was weak. That my _Cycle_ was weak. They said they were going to hurt me. What are we going to do if they come after us?"

"Jongin," Kyungsoo stops him, grabbing his arm. "I'm... I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry about today. I won't let them hurt you. But we can't work with EXO, they're criminals — EXO can't protect us."

"But you couldn't protect me either, _hyung_ ," Jongin says. Kyungsoo's stomach turns. The younger quickly looks away. "If they come after us, we might not be able to get away. We might not be able to be together anymore, _Kyungsoo-hyung_ , do you want them to hurt us? I couldn't be able to defend myself like you, because my _Cycle_ is weak... I don't want them to hurt me, to hurt us... You wouldn't let them hurt me, _hyung_ , would you? You said you wouldn't let them hurt me—what if EXO is our best chance at staying safe?"

Kyungsoo is so overcome that he feels sick. "Jongin..." He hadn’t realized the extent of what his actions caused for him. Kyungsoo _is_ a menace. He hurt Jongin, broke their trust, lost the man he met again, _Cycled_ , and thought he loved, in a blink of an eye.

"I want to go with EXO," Jongin declares. "I want to hurt them before they can hurt me. _Please go with me_."

Kyungsoo chokes up, supressing the tears that make their way to his eyes once more. "Jongin—" Even as his heart breaks, he know he’s given up. There wasn’t a life to go back to, after today. Kyungsoo ended it all, for him and for Jongin. And all he was left with was a choice, to exact his vengeance on the city that ruined them. But who could he blame anymore? Could he make a swear on EXO? For the first time in his life, Kyungsoo curses himself, curses his _Cycle_ , and everything inside him fades, leaves him in the shell of his torment — Kyungsoo had sacrificed so much in life, yet it feels like this is the first time he knows to renounce.

Guilt and regret fight for his resolve, when Jongin unexpectedly hugs him. The embrace is _seizing_ , weighed out and so close it’s almost hostile. The brunet pulls back and smiles, a pretty grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, blue and bluer, without the trace of a glimmer. But it withers, Jongin's gaze slips where their eyes meet. He lets go of Kyungsoo and looks in the direction of the escalator on their right; _Star_ and Junmyeon are perched on the top of the platform, conversing around a glass table.

"OK," Kyungsoo concedes, letting out a broken breath. " _OK_."

They make their way up in silence, Kyungsoo receiving countless stares as people pass them by, some apprehensive, some in wonder. _The_ _Cyclist_ , the whispers travelling from mouth to mouth, _the Cyclist of force_. _Star_ watches them approach, looking like he already knows, like a man who rarely allows to be denied. The _leader of EXO_ , however, holds no pride anymore. Junmyeon sets down the print in his hands and speaks before Kyungsoo can open his mouth.

"I'm going to tell Sehun."

Kyungsoo staggers, " _What_ are you going to tell Sehun?"

Junmyeon ignores the attention to the question. "You'll be convicted sooner or later, Kyungsoo. The Parks are going to target everyone who's close to you. We need to keep him safe. Jongin should stay here too."

"Myeon, I'm going to help you."

The man stands rooted, his voice firm. " _No_."

Jongin steps forward and _Star_ crosses his arms. Kyungsoo holds back his desperation; he can’t argue with Junmyeon now. "Please—you said my Cycle was strong. I want to fight for us."

"Kyungsoo, I'm trying to do _everything_ to keep you out of their reach."

"I can help you—"

" _No_."

" _Hyung_ —" Kyungsoo recoils when Junmyeon's fist slams down on the table, vibrating the glass that resonates throughout the entire area. The compound comes to a quiet; everyone stops moving. Junmyeon breathes harshly through his nose and his hand under the table slides to cover his wrist, nervous fingers wrapping around his watch. Kyungsoo takes a step back as his mentor seethes through his teeth.

" _Take over_ ," Junmyeon throws at his partner, and tears his coat off the loveseat behind him before stomping out without sparing Kyungsoo a last glance. He disappears into the group of participants that envelop him like they did _Star_ , earlier in the morning. Kyungsoo's courage is abandoned where his mentor breaks and leaves his façade. 

 _Star_ lets out a sigh, like he’s disappointed at Kyungsoo, or Junmyeon, or them both. But there’s sympathy in his shining eyes, pity where he casts his gaze away and clears his throat. He glides his hand over the table, unlocking the sequence and opening a project. The model materializes, gridded white lights coursing through them, and the commander introduces himself:

"I'm Baekhyun. Welcome to the revolution."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> urmph this was brutal ;-; but i'm happy to write. time for confrontations next chapter :00


	4. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what? is English?? what is story?? writing??

“It might’ve been me. I don’t know. All the kids played there, it was the only space where we could run around. It could’ve been me. It could’ve been Jonginnie, too. Maybe it could’ve been Kyungsoo, but he was really scared of the ruinyard, even if he didn’t want to admit it. No one knew about the transmission wires, I mean, how could we? They were secret, right? How were we supposed to pay attention to that? Maybe it was me. I ran around a lot, because I was always trying to keep up with Jongin. Maybe it was him. But you know, hyung, I don’t think they actually cared who it was. Maybe no one broke a wire. Maybe there weren’t even any wires at all. Maybe they got bored and wanted—wanted to scare us again. They put us in a line and asked us to confess. They called us and our families vermin and traitors of the regime. Kyungsoo wasn’t the oldest, and I wasn’t the youngest, but we were still kids. And I cried a lot—I couldn’t stop crying that day. They told me to shut up, but I was so scared. So they kicked me down and put a knife over my eyes. They said if—if I didn’t stop crying, they’d cut my eyes out. I thought I was going to die, but Kyungsoo—he jumped between us, pulled the knife and slashed the man in the face. Everyone started screaming when they beat him. They beat him so bad, I thought they were going to kill him. They threw him in the yard and bombed the last building inside. They said that they’d let us off if he could make it out alive. You—you know he had really bad eyesight, right? I don’t remember how long it was, but I really thought he wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t cry anymore. It—it _should’ve_ been me—no? I thought then that I _wanted_ it to be me. I wanted to scream that _it was me_. Why shouldn’t it have been me, hyung?”

The sunlight kisses Sehun’s smooth face, specks of gold and white soaking through the parasol of their table. He sips his coffee nervously, gazing at the city’s river view from the vacant terrace of the rooftop restaurant. Junmyeon nurses his cooling cup in his hands.

“He broke his arm that day, and he lived for months like that. When our sector was cleared, the first thing Kyungsoo did was get his eyes done, and then the surgery. After Jongin left, we worked hard to pay for school. I promised him I would work at the market with him someday. That I’d get instituted with him. I was hopeful when we met you, hyung. You were so nice to us. And I was happy when we became friends because Kyungsoo had someone older to look out for him now. You’ve taken care of us like he took care of me and Jongin. You’ve always looked out for us.”

Sehun sets his cup down and looks at Junmyeon with his soft eyes. His expression is apologetic, almost grief-stricken, resting with the peace of the afternoon. When Junmyeon asked to meet, he didn’t expect the younger to be so much more upset than him. Sehun rarely shows himself like this. “Hyung. You’ve _always_ been there for us.”

And Junmyeon knows it straightaway; he _can’t_ say it. The love that’s crumbling in his heart is a sharp knife he turns against himself, because Junmyeon is _weak_ , craven, and refuses to let himself be set free. For all the wealth, power, and peace in the world, he couldn’t do it. It’s with resignation that he cries without tears, without emotion — his body mourns. Junmyeon dies with the renouncement. And he hates himself now more than ever because the truth comes out, he would confess his crimes rather than say he’s in love.

“Sehun,” he recites, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

 

—

 

What Kyungsoo knows about EXO's history is limited to the censure of the media and some talk around the country, portraits of evil opposing tales of heroes. The most popular piece tells of a man who fell from the skies and into the ocean, a messenger from the galaxies come to liberate the country from the claws of the regime. Kyungsoo never had a kind of story like that to find comfort in as a child, but he thinks that his self might become one of the characters that a next generation could look up to in the legend of the future, EXO's imagined future.

EXO's greatest feat had been their first, a total blackout of the city that lasted an entire night, costing the Parks more than they could have anticipated. The single lit hexagon that had been drawn above the Town Square succeeded in painting their fame and fortune; no one ever saw them coming. It was said that the bounty on _Star_ 's head rivaled the inheritance of the General's son, which sparked questions on the exact level of EXO's threat. To Kyungsoo, it was an absolute miracle that there never seemed to be a hint of Junmyeon's existence inside the group. _Star_ held everything in his name, including all the demands for a reform. He still couldn’t believe his mentor was the man behind it all.

“Cycles exist to sustain the balance in the universe. Our knowledge of them is limited, given that they’re a recent phenomenon, but researchers around the world have come together to properly understand its fundamentals. We know they’ve been here forever, and that they have direct effect on living organisms’ sleep cycles. Some people’s cycles are strong; theirs can pull others into slumber. People with weak cycles will fall into the pull of stronger Cyclists. If they sleep, they sleep, if they wake, they wake together. But the major incidents that originated the discoveries don’t introduce the element that is the key to cycles: _songs_.”

Byun Baekhyun has right to be called _Star_. He almost has right to be called a _God_ as well, the silver-like angel who is worshipped by all of EXO’s followers, these people who have lost their homes, their families, wandering souls disillusioned with the Park regime, and the name of their country. _Star_ ’s notoriety is as renowned as Park Chanyeol’s, and celebrated just as much. He’s the light of hope and life, just as his enemy is the red beacon of the city that incinerates everything on its path, ravages like plague. But there’s nothing _tame_ about Baekhyun’s shining spirit either, nothing that blesses soft nor good. Kyungsoo doesn’t see an untouchable man, he sees a broken soul who’s braved death one too many times, a fallen angel who wears his trauma bare-faced, and who uses mercy as allowance — Baekhyun is ruthless because he doesn’t forgive easily.

“Your _song_ is a vocalized link that you, the Cyclist, have with your Cycle.” The projection spins and illuminates the different components inside the model; beamed notes make a connection between the form of a human body and a blurry ring of light. “Everybody has a Cycle, so everybody has a _song_. Think of it as a controller. Your _song_ corresponds to your Cycle, and so you can conduct it. However, like cycles, there are strong ones and weak ones. Songs and cycles match, but they don’t necessarily have a correlation when it comes to the level. You can have a powerful _song_ and a very weak Cycle, just as you can have a strong Cycle and absolutely no grasp on your _song_ at all. This goes the same for your singing. People with powerful songs are generally good singers, but it isn’t a principle. You could sing terribly and be an extremely leveled Cyclist. It all depends on how good you can control your _song_. If you can train it, then you become a leveled Cyclist.”

Kyungsoo’s hand slides through the holograms, turning the ring that poses as the Cycle. To think that such a small design could incarnate the greatest, most complex mystery of the new world era. “Why don’t we know this? Why aren’t there laws on this?”

“Cycles are still considered a supernatural phenomenon. All that’s been mediatized since its manifestation is how dangerous a Cycle is, and how dangerous Cyclists can be,” Baekhyun explains. “ _Song_ recognition is still unofficial in the scientific community. But the phenomenon’s growing at hectic pace and it’s only a matter of time before something critical happens. The Park regime has assessed the Cycle threat and is already trying to put an end to it. We don’t have time to waste on paperwork or credentials.”

Leaning against the rails, Jongin looks fixedly at Baekhyun. Even though the commander stands and speaks strong, Kyungsoo can tell, from the way the he clears a quantity of space between them, that he’s overly mindful of their presence and the extent of the information he gives. Baekhyun wasn’t a man who built trust, but _won_ it. Merited, earned. It gave the impression of duty over faith, more of a handicap than actual, genuine and generous worth. EXO couldn’t have been formed with such availability, and Kyungsoo wonders how Junmyeon ever did this.

Jongin, for his part, remains very confident. “So you strike first. How much do you know about cycles?”

“We’re always gathering new information. There’s still a lot about cycles we don’t know, however—” he turns to Kyungsoo and taps twice on his collared throat, jingling the chains of his piercing, “—do you sing?”

Faced with it again, the killing question that Kyungsoo has defied for years. Some part of him thinks he would be elsewhere had things been different, if Sehun hadn’t pushed him onto Junmyeon, if Jongin had stayed missing in his life, or if he’d never sung for them in the first place. _Fate_ —could it still be his destiny? But it was useless to wonder anymore, there was nothing he could change, not Junmyeon, not Jongin, not Park Chanyeol nor EXO; Kyungsoo capitulates. “I used to. _Yes_.”

“Junmyeon spoke a lot about you,” Baekhyun says, and leaves it at that. “I know about your singing. You _are_ a Cyclist, like me. A very leveled Cyclist. I want you to hear something, but first, I’m going to ask you to sing.”

Kyungsoo stares in dismay. “Now?” Sehun’s frail form flashes pass his eyes; Jongin and himself, huddled together under the covers, _cycling_ out of the raging storm, the ghost of the younger’s fingers and his tender touch; Junmyeon’s melody he hears inside his head — singing was Kyungsoo’s solace. He didn’t want his _song_ to have anything to do with the atrocities of his Cycle, and he couldn’t be inclined to sing out in the open like that, put on the spot and _center stage_ , an intimacy of his own in front of EXO’s all-mighty commander.

Baekhyun seems to sense his anxiousness and he sighs, “Here, I’ll sing first, OK? So you can listen.”

Before Kyungsoo can think to ready himself, the man breathes in and lets out a round note with the most powerful singing voice he’s ever heard. Full, solid, astounding. It pours into the compound, echoing beautifully, and immobilizing everyone. Kyungsoo feels something hitch inside his mind, the same sensation of displacement that occurred when their gazes first met, pulling at his consciousness. It’s so forceful that he has to turn his head away, and he sees Jongin covering his ears as he shakes.

“Jongin!” Kyungsoo supports the younger as he pants hard. On the lower floor, the passing participants raise their fists in the air. “ _EXO, we are one!_ ” they chant in unison, as if summoned. Baekhyun nods along with the call and smirks in their way, wildly amused with himself, like he hasn’t showed off in a while. “You’re lucky I’m wearing the clip. Your Cycle couldn’t handle mine.”

“What is that?” Jongin mutters angrily. “The piercing?”

“It’s a lip-ring that has a restraining influence. It hinders mouth-movement and forces you to speak more carefully. The hold,” he gestures to the fixed point on his collar, “makes you focus on your voice and how you project your _song_. It’s not magic or anything — although _some_ people here will argue about _imbued energy_ — but a Cyclist can use it to train themselves.”

“ _Train yourselves_ ,” Kyungsoo accuses. “To do what?”

“You’ve cycled before. You’ve seen how powerful a Cycle can be, pulling others in your sleep and such. Your _song_ can direct your Cycle to touch other people’s cycles.”

Kyungsoo's hand unconsciously goes to rub his throat and he shifts away as to shield himself. “So you’re… you’re turning your Cycle into a weapon.”

Baekhyun’s smile tells him he has right to _fear_ , a cheery smile that betrays the extent of his abilities, the scope of his _power_ , what he could do if he were unchained. He waves his hand in amiability, “Not so incorruptible anymore, are we? Don’t be too impressed, though — there’s close to no one who can achieve my level. And there’s much less than a handful of Cyclists like you. The people you see here that ‘are’ EXO can’t do what we do. That’s why we’re assembling leveled Cyclists to overthrow the regime — that’s why you’re here, so consider yourself lucky. But enough about that, it’s your turn now.”

“You want me to sing. You want me to bring down the government by _singing_.”

The man lets out a dark laugh, “I’ve killed men with my _song_. Do you believe that? I just want you to sing.”

Kyungsoo eyes _Star_ apprehensively, taking hold of the figure of power in front of them. He senses Jongin growing wary behind him, and his body tells him to retreat, to get out of EXO and its _cycling insanity_ as fast as possible. His memory provides him with all the reported news he ever saw of EXO and _Star_ , rebels, traitors, anarchist militants, terrorists, fools of the western influences but before all of that — failures of the state. Filths of the city who want to soil the _sublime purity of Seoul-D_ — _our glorious country, we must burn these insurgent brutes to ashes._ Yet still the world is _spoiling_ , whether the rebel groups or the Park regime, citizens like Kyungsoo, Sehun and Jongin roll in the dirt, digging the improbable neutral lane for a slice of livable life. 

Now he has to choose, once and for all. Kyungsoo is at the crossing point and he chooses EXO for Jongin, for Sehun, for Junmyeon. He chooses for the song in his heart, the love that wastes away in his music. He sings for nothing else but love, and now his love fights.

Baekhyun waits, waits for his compliance, commanding his composure. Kyungsoo nerves himself to deliver, already knowing it will sound graceless. No more choices. He glances at Jongin once, trembling Jongin who nods at him weakly. He takes a long breath, casts his eyes down, and starts with a low humming, attempting to delay the surge of his _song_. The pieces that _D.O._ gathered for him first, wringing themselves into a substance. _Sing for me, hyung_. Gradually his voice flows out, fine and fragile, walking on the wire of memories, but it’s difficult where he feels the pairs of eyes on him.

“Listen closely to yourself,” Baekhyun instructs, but Kyungsoo is too conscious of the exhibition, thoughts racing off, and he just tries to capture the sound before the rest of the note is hastily pushed out, ending on an awkward slumping tone. He exhales in frustration, the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“You can’t sing like that when we’re on the field,” _Star_ says sharply.

“ _What_ am I even going to do?” Kyungsoo snaps. “I don’t have your training! You want me to join your operations, but I don’t have any control over my Cycle. I barely sing.”

“That won’t matter. This isn’t what I wanted to talk about. _You_ ,” Jongin tenses when the steel eyes rivet on him, “sing.”

Kyungsoo turns — Jongin instantly responds with a glower, “I’m— _not_ —I don’t sing.”

Baekhyun sighs exasperatedly, his irritation coming out of him in waves. “Just say your _name_ , then. Slowly. Kyungsoo, you listen carefully.”

Kyungsoo watches, curious, as Jongin frowns in confusion and delivers hesitantly: “Kim. Jongin.” Honey and stone, melted into a voice.

“Do you hear it?” Baekhyun asks expectantly.

“What?”

“The sound.” He selects a second project on the glass table that opens with two holographic models of spheres. The first one on the left spins and splits when he presses it. “What I’m about to tell you is very new, and not too well-founded. Some time ago, our collaborators abroad came back with some data regarding our study on voice colour—or the timber, if you prefer. Essentially, songs are separated in two categories concerning the Cyclist’s natural voice, their range and capacity to sing. You have _closed_ and _open_ voices, that give closed and open songs.”

Baekhyun’s fingers thread inside the first sphere, pulling it apart. The model glows a reddish purple. “Whether your _song_ is closed or open, it doesn’t have any known impact on your Cycle’s level. It’s really just how your voice sounds and when you sing. Kyungsoo, you and I have open voices. Imagine it like this sphere here: round, hollow, a rich and full colour. I won’t say that open voices are a majority, but they’re more common than closed ones.”

The second sphere the man breaks contains a single clear sheet between the upper and lower halves, and radiates a more ashen colour, mixed with indigo and green. “People with _closed_ songs seem like they have an additional layer of sound in their voices. It’s pretty obvious in your friend Jongin here, if you can hear it. It sounds _cleaner_ , more _vibrant_. There is resonance.”

“OK,” Kyungsoo looks between the two projections, envisioning the description. “What does this have to do with cycling?”

“Like I said, closed and open voices don’t have positive or negative connotations. You can see it as a scale if you want; some voices are more closed, some are more open, and some are slightly in the middle. Our doctor here on the grounds has a mix of both. However, this is where we think there’s something more interesting.”

Baekhyun swipes the clear sheet inside the sphere and flips it out like a disk. He sends it flying up the space of display in front of them, and the small mass of light blows up into a vast block that sparkles like a map of constellations.

“The layer of sound I talked about for closed voices — we’re thinking it’s a network, for cycles. People who have more closed voices have a better grasp on this network than people with more open voices.”

“Slow down—” Kyungsoo interrupts, head aching at the influx of information. “Is all of this inside our voices? Like our vocal chords?”

“And what do you mean by network?” Jongin adds, eyes wide in alarm at the imposing projection. He looks almost fearful. “Do all Cyclists have access?”

“As I said earlier, there’s still a lot about cycles we don’t know.” Baekhyun leans over and starts to type on the table’s keyboard. “This is just a hypothesis. And no, your Cycle is not inside your vocal chords. This isn’t something organic. Cycles are a matter out of our knowledge, but they’re a necessary part of our bodies — we need them to live, like our heart and brain. Actually, a Cycle can be seen as the core of your body: it regulates you, balances your psyche, your entire being. That’s why sleep is the primary state of effect, because it’s just like real _cycles_. When you sleep, you enter different phases that repeat themselves until you wake, that’s why we call it a sleep _cycle_ , right? Up until the last century, people thought it was just a natural mechanism to sustain ourselves, and that isn’t false, but when cycles were properly discovered, we learned that _they are_ the ones actually in control of what we do. We sleep, eat, drink, cater to our needs because it keeps us in balance. Cycles exist to regulate everything, so including us.”

Kyungsoo’s train of thought comes to a brutal stop. While he understands, his mind refuses to accept. How was it that the world they lived in was even more than a lie, even more than the Parks’ fabrication of the city — a higher power out of their knowledge. How could he believe in something so inconceivable yet so extraordinary, a revelation that transformed existence as a whole? Kyungsoo’s life seemed henceforth a reaction, a _result_. He was alive because of his Cycle, and his body worked on it. The question remained whether or not he had a free conscience to believe in the reality. “So I’m… Am I— _am I a Cycle?_ Or a person?”

Baekhyun chuckles, looking pleased. “Life-turning, isn’t it? The world of the Cycle. _Once you fall into it, you have to let yourself go_. This is the secret of the universe. I mean it, when I tell you to consider yourself lucky. You’re not a product of your Cycle, Kyungsoo, you’re a _Cyclist_. What EXO—”

The discussion is interrupted by a loud blinking sound, emitting from a bulky device on the end of table. Baekhyun falters, then immediately closes the projection and rushes toward the machine, what looks like an old transmission box that uses radio signals. He tweaks the dial with urgency, dainty fingers scrambling back and forth from the box to the recording controls on the table’s monitor, and the sound turns into an unpleasant scratching sound, stuttering as the channel stabilizes. Jongin quickly moves to Baekhyun's side, and Kyungsoo follows him after a moment of feeling misplaced.

Static. Waves and waves of static, flooding through the receiver. Kyungsoo searches for a pattern, but the noise is blaring, erupting at random. Baekhyun becomes frenetic when the sound begins to shush out. “Fuck, no, _wait_ —!" he then shuts his eyes and carelessly throws himself onto the table, hands rigid at his sides and head bent over in intense concentration. Jongin suddenly cries out and a shrill noise resounds inside Kyungsoo's head.

"Stop! Baekhyun, you're hurting him!"

A few agitated seconds later, the man stops and raises himself with a furious scowl on his face. “Damn,” he grouses. “I think I was close.”

“What the hell?" Kyungsoo vociferates. "What was that?”

Baekhyun sighs, grips the edge of the table and ignore them both. He switches the interrupter on the box and walks back to the keyboard. “I’ve received this same weird message for the past few months. It’s just… noise. I can’t decode anything, so I’m trying to use my Cycle instead.”

Jongin stiffly stands back up and eyes the print of the recording on the monitor. “Is someone trying to contact you?”

“This transmitter works on waves, not like today’s stations that are just linked to the signal. Someone must be in an extremely limited position to resort to waves, and also pretty _crazy_. You don’t just build these things anymore, the technology’s outdated.”

He disassembles the recording on the monitor, peering closely with Kyungsoo at the uneven lines. “Who do you think would try to reach you? Like this?”

“I have no idea. I’m in contact with our SM corps all over the country, as well as other groups. We have our own communication means. Even Bulletproof has a channel outside the borders with us.”

“You work with _The Bulletproof?_ ” Jongin exclaims.

Baekhyun looks at the brunet attentively, lowering his eyebrows in question. A pink tongue pushes the piercing down his lip. “ _Yes_. Speaking of which — they’re the ones updating us on the network matter. We’re gathering data on Cyclists around the world and seeing if this theory checks out. _You_ have a closed voice—Jongin, yes? It’s very prominent. I wonder if you could be of any use…”

“Wait,” Kyungsoo interjects, shaking his head. Jongin visibly shies away at the suggestion, raising his guard. He drops his hands when Kyungsoo touches his shoulder in assurance, and Kyungsoo feels sad about their poor state of reconciliation.

“What do you want with me?”

“Your Cycle might be weak, but I’m thinking you could connect to the network with your _song_. Someone with your _closed_ range should definitely be able to. We may be able to come in contact with some other Cyclists who could help us for the _breach_.”

“What _is_ the _breach?_ ” Kyungsoo finally asks. “You’ve been talking about this but I still don’t know what you want me to do.”

Baekhyun’s first project opens again, this time with the multiple coordinates the man has set on his monitor. He’s so fixated on the set that he looks mad, excited to the point of rage, and it’s what Kyungsoo recognizes in the split-second fissures of Junmyeon’s polished façade, a mirror to reflect the most violent of motives. Jongin approaches the monitor, looking too focused as well, and Baekhyun side-eyes the scrapes on his face, the marks that seal his aggression. 

“Almost no one knows, but the General isn’t in the country. I speculate he’s overseas on missions for an international collective and just left his son to oversee things, but Park Chanyeol’s basically the one in charge now.”

A model of the city’s center materializes, a tiny transparent Seoul-D in their grasp, left bare and harmless. Baekhyun equips his hand with a tactile glove and inserts his arm into the projection, manipulating the objects on the map. Strings of light weave where he points, selects, and takes apart, wielding the architecture like a toy-master. He starts by shooting Kyungsoo a disgruntled look.

“What you did today set our plans back like you wouldn’t imagine. The plaza at the statue entrance has a weapons compound underground.” The model zooms into the statue entrance, and Baekhyun splits the ground into three levels. The lowest block is shaded in red. “Collecting this would’ve given us the advantage we needed to get into the Interior. That’s the place where Seoul-D really is — it’s the heart of the city and the country. All high-ranking functionaries work there, and every operation is carried out from its execution point.”

The Interior that the model displays is a space no larger than Kyungsoo’s sector and doesn’t look like anything remotely organized: walls twist and turn in elaborated motifs resembling a barricaded labyrinth, towering pillars sprouting here and there. Baekhyun has to remove an entire layer of automated catwalks superimposed over as roof for the area to section the main level. Kyungsoo is left aghast when he elevates it to the top of the table’s compass and a new patch three times its size appears under the ground line. “People work there?”

“Yes, and all of the ‘offices’ are underground. It’s an extremely intricate works complex that’s completely isolated from the rest of the city.”

“And that’s where we’re going?” Jongin asks.

“That’s right,” he presses on the patch once, “because this is where everything is being managed. All of the city’s resources as well as the government’s archives. If we’re able to take control of the central sector, then Seoul-D is ours. The General will have no choice but to relinquish.”

Kyungsoo briskly brings his hands forward, waving them in agitation. “Hold on—how are we going to do that? How many people are there in the Interior? This place is guarded,” he pauses, the pressure suspended in the air, “are we going to kill people?”

To his surprise and utter panic, both Baekhyun and Jongin turn to him with equal apathetic stares. The commander spares him his curiosity, hands compressing the patch and leaning against the table. The smile his small mouth carries is a private one that he can’t help, a muted conversation he takes humor in. Baekhyun’s thick voice drips with venom:

“I’ve never met Park Chanyeol, Kyungsoo. But let me be the first one to shoot the devil when we see him.”

The projection flickers once, the electric hum cutting the heavy silence between them. Baekhyun closes the projection and nods in Jongin’s way as to prompt him: _whatever you choose to do, there will be blood._ And it will inevitably be in Kyungsoo’s hands, in his mouth, in his eyes. He’d never escape the curse of the capital, the one that condemned strayed souls like him to the murder of the earth. Sooner or later, he would have to behold it once again, the red gash on Seoul-D’s vile face.

For the next fleeting hours, Baekhyun details them the process of the operation; an entry point to the Interior links to the Unit Tunnel, enabling them to gain access to the secret routes. Kyungsoo discovers the immense hidden circuit that expands under the Unit Tunnel, a network for activities of all natures, legal and not. The covert convoy carrying the plaza’s weapons for relocation is to be sent to the Interior by the end of the night, which takes Jongin aback. “Tonight?”

“The timing is advantageous for us. They have to move the cargo as fast as possible. If it’s at night, it means that people will be more susceptible to a Cycle’s sleep influence. First, we secure the convoy. This isn’t the size of a motor, we’re talking about shuttle trains filled with guns, explosives, trackers. Our _aeri_ formations here will take charge of the cargo first. They’ll spread throughout the city and neutralize the most important points, including the passageway to the tunnel. Only my unit is going to infiltrate the Interior in the convoy. Once we get in, we’re going to get to the central sector. Kyungsoo, you’re going to help us disable security there.”

“By singing,” Kyungsoo reiterates miserably. Baekhyun tells him how to use his Cycle, how with his _song_ he can control it to hurt others. He tells him so calmly that he can shake or shatter people's cycles inside them as torture, and straight up rip it out of their bodies. He says it the way Junmyeon first showed him his formulas, so plainly, believing in him fully. The commander seems unconcerned for the fact that Kyungsoo has no proper control over his Cycle, and certainly not enough to use his _song_ to kill. He was going to weaponize his pure _voice_ , his heart’s music, the thing that had been nothing else but a lullaby, his promise of love. It felt like hurting Sehun, Jongin, and now Junmyeon, corrupting their love. It felt _sickening_.

Junmyeon returns when the meter chimes 6. He’s propelled back into the compound by the sea of EXO, exactly like he was escorted out. His short figure in the distance moves, slowly, and everything flows with him. Kyungsoo follows his course, heart stammering and worked up with worry.

Baekhyun calls the leader up the platform, waits, before suddenly turning to Jongin. “I want you to go see our doctor.” He gestures to the side of his face and his bandaged leg.

Jongin looks at Kyungsoo. “I’m fine.”

But the commander shakes his head. “No, I insist—here, I’ll accompany you. Kyungsoo, I’ll give you and Junmyeon a moment, we’ll see you for the meal.”

He takes Jongin by the arm, his impatient expression and the half-bow he gives Kyungsoo what he counts as a dismissal. Helpless, Jongin stills at the contact, sending Kyungsoo a pleading glance as he lets Baekhyun guide him down the platform. Kyungsoo watches the man run from his sight again, disappearing with _Star_ ’s slender form.

Kyungsoo’s heart is in a muddle when he locks eyes with Junmyeon, standing on the other side on the lower deck. He signals him to step down from the second escalator at the end of the table, offering some ground to their strained atmosphere. As Kyungsoo approaches, he sees that Junmyeon looks less tired and more aggrieved than anything. He doesn’t say a word when they meet, turning to walk back to the white windowless room.

Behind his mentor Kyungsoo feels like he’s chasing him. Junmyeon pierces the mass of circling EXO participants, but nevertheless he blends in with their presence, whereas Baekhyun— _Star_ stands out, shines dazzling like a spotlight. Kyungsoo follows the blur of ash pink hair, the slim shoulders steering straight ahead, Junmyeon doesn’t carry the weight of his creation more than he walks, swims, breathes it everyday. He’s EXO like EXO is him, and Kyungsoo thinks this is why no one knows him, the leader of EXO, navigating in the shadows.

Kyungsoo closes the door inside the room, shutting them alone in the solemnity. Junmyeon folds his coat into his arm and sits on the bed, head low and sighing. The silence fills their regrets, the unspoken apologies and grievance, _I’m sorry_ exhausted and emptied out. Kyungsoo seats himself next to Junmyeon, hands on his knees.

“Did you go see Sehun?”

Junmyeon stares fixedly at the door. “Yeah.” His mouth quivers where he breathes out. Kyungsoo moves to put his hand over his, but Junmyeon goes on: “He knew.”

Kyungsoo stops. “What?”

“He knew. He knew who I was.”

“Wh—how? _What?_ ”

“He called me by my alias.” Junmyeon turns to him, eyes bored. “He said… He said: _Suho_ -hyung, I know who you are. I know about EXO.”

The emotion squeezes at Kyungsoo’s throat and chest. “How did he know?”

“He told me he saw the communication line I had with Tao on his computer, by accident,” Junmyeon says quickly. “That was a year ago.”

“ _A year?_ ” Kyungsoo nearly shouts. Sehun knew, he _knew_ , he harbored Junmyeon’s secret, and who knows what else — sorrow, anger, despair. He dragged it behind him for an entire _year_. “And—Tao’s EXO? Sehun’s coordinator?”

“Yes. He’s one of our members, actually. I should go get him… Sehun’ll be here soon.”

“He’s going to come here?”

“He’s… yeah.” Junmyeon closes his eyes and goes to stroke Kyungsoo’s back in assurance. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. But I’m afraid we don’t have any more time. I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo looks down, crawling out of his stupor. “No, it’s OK. I wish we had more time too. Are you... Are you OK, hyung?”

“I’m all right. I was shocked, like you, but it’s passed now.” Junmyeon swallows, feigning a smile. “How are you feeling?”

 _I can’t_ , is the answer that comes to his mind. Kyungsoo is beyond drained, too much that preoccupies him at the moment — Jongin, Sehun, EXO, Park Chanyeol. Nothing _wants_ to cut through his denumbed senses, but still Kyungsoo has to let himself feel if he wants to make it out of this with them, together, like they always have. “I’m—tired. I’m so tired, hyung. This has got to be the most insane day of my life. I almost got—I almost got Jongin killed. I met Park Chanyeol, I met EXO, I met Baekhyun, I met… you. You know what I mean, hyung. And now tonight I have to help overthrow the government—I mean, what the hell, right? The rebellion? I’m not dreaming this, am I?”

The wince on Junmyeon’s face is disheartening and reminds him of how much his mentor sacrificed so he could never be here, inside EXO and the chaos. The silence that falls over them is too heavy, too long, and Kyungsoo misses the time of the past, so close yet so far, another time when they were at peace. But it’s a lie he tells himself, because Junmyeon’s always been this without his knowing, all these years, he has fought wars behind the curtain and Kyungsoo was never good at looking.

“I hate this, hyung. I hate that I’m a Cyclist. I wish I didn’t have this _useless power_ anymore.”

Junmyeon gives him a sincere look, “It’s not useless, Kyungsoo. Your Cycle is a gift, your _song_ too. Even if we’re in a war right now, I can promise you, there’s good in this world. There’s good in a Cycle, and you’re proof of that. At the end of the day, you’ll choose to _sing_ over choosing your _song_. You’ll choose your soul over your Cycle, and that’s why you’re good. That’s what matters. You make people happy when you sing.”

Kyungsoo gazes sadly at the man. “And _I wish that were enough_.”

The mechanical whir of an elevator resounds inside the room, stretching the moment of imitation between them. For his entire life, Kyungsoo lived in a drawn-out line, his history was drafted for him before he could even write, and now tomorrow never seemed so bleak, so dark. He holds Junmyeon’s hand because it’s all he can hold onto now, the last piece of his old life, breaking the bridge for him. It strikes him rather kindly that even now, the man remains his strong-faced mentor, leads him where the waters rage. Maybe this is their destiny too.

“Baekhyun—” Junmyeon begins, “Baekhyun is the best at what he does. His _song_ and Cycle are unmatched. He’s been dreaming about tonight since the day I met him. Kyungsoo, I’m afraid we’re just using you. We need a leveled Cyclist to help us take out most of the Interior. Our unit was supposed to do that, but with you here, he thinks it’ll be easier. You’re damage control. So I’m asking you… Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure, hyung.” Because he wants to eat with Junmyeon and Sehun again, he wants to see the stars with Jongin, watch the sunset, rise with the dawn. He wants to live again, anew, and if EXO can give him that, if Junmyeon can save them, then Kyungsoo will follow him into the inferno. He’ll follow him even at the end of the world.

“OK, then,” the man whispers after a while. “I need to get the dining done. Will you take care of Sehun when he gets here, please?”

Kyungsoo acquiesces and Junmyeon cards his hand through his black hair in fondness. His thumb strokes the side of his face, lingering, before the man leaves Kyungsoo in the room alone, once more.

In the corner of the bed, he sees that his bag has been left open with the flight jacket. Rummaging through it, Kyungsoo finds his phone and Jongin's capsule kit, deserted to him like the man's broken heart. His fingers then brush the cool polish of his institution badge, a last evidence of Do Kyungsoo, market worker — the citizen of Seoul-D. His whole life's goal and worth, smelted into a single certificate. Everything he ever wanted, years of blood, sweat, tears — Kyungsoo chucks it on the ground. And he knows from the echo as it rings in his ears that he grieves nothing. Seoul-D took everything from him, and now he’s going to do the same.

Sehun arrives into the room without knocking, wearing his favourite designer coat and a black scarf covering the most wretched expression on his tired face. The leather suitcase he carries is the smallest one he owns, but has the crown in his collection because it was a gift from Junmyeon. Kyungsoo stands as the blond closes the door and slumps against it. Whatever Kyungsoo wants to say dies with Sehun's silence, the younger takes one look at him and breaks down in tears.

If Jongin's heart is ruined, then Sehun's is in dust. Kyungsoo holds the crying boy, and despite his height Sehun is so small now, like the child blubbering in his arms under the night on fire. Through the loud gasps and choked wails, Kyungsoo desperately pushes his _song_ inside them, sings his music to him one last time before it becomes stained. Sehun shakes, shakes like an earthquake, shivering all over. 

“I love him,” he sobs uncontrollably into Kyungsoo's neck. "I love him."

“I know.” _He loves you too_ , but Kyungsoo knows he can’t be the one to say it. "I know."

He chases away the bitter sentiment in him; Sehun and Junmyeon can have everything, but he and Jongin could have had it. They were almost there, so close, Kyungsoo still feels it in his heart, the beautiful gazes, lovers' touches, the trepidation. Seoul-D murdered them, _Park Chanyeol murdered them_ — Kyungsoo couldn’t go back after today. He wonders how many sleepless nights Sehun missed the _cycling_ in them, how much he wished time could’ve stopped, just enough for him to scream, scream everything into the waiting space. And for all this hidden time Kyungsoo wasn’t there for either of them, as they suffered in silence. He stops Sehun before he can dare apologize.

"Sehun," he says, moving them toward the bed, "it's going to be OK, Sehun. Hyung's here, we're going to be OK—it's going to be OK."

Sehun lies down, coughs and cries with Kyungsoo over him, still singing, murmuring, caressing his head. The current of air around him tightens and seems to strangle the younger the more he cries; Sehun's love is suffocating him, so much that he almost faints after a particularly harsh breath because he needs to feel it, he needs to love before he dies. Kyungsoo can’t envy the man more than he can pity him.

He holds Sehun's hand and the blond's breathing softens just as Kyungsoo hears the lonely melody, the beautiful tune of an _open_ voice flowing through them. Inside the compound, Junmyeon's _song_ pulls him in, soothing, drenching him in the Cycle's waves. Sehun's wind subsides, succeeding the tide, and after a few minutes he calms down.

"Is Jongin here?" he croaks.

"Yes, he's with Baekhyun."

"The doctor too, right? Junmyeon said I needed to go see him. He said that he was going to stay with me."

Kyungsoo nods, sighing, "Jongin's not really well right now." 

"Why?"

"He's... I think he's upset with me. Because of this morning. He got hurt." Kyungsoo bites his lip, his body aching. "He won't even look at me..."

The blond frowns, fingers rubbing at his swollen face. "That's not like him. He—he loves you, hyung... maybe he's just scared."

The door opens then with an unpleasant creak. Kyungsoo raises his head and the moment seems to slow down when he sees Zitao enter in one frantic step, his delicate black eyes that land on Sehun on the bed. The man strides toward them, so hurried that Kyungsoo's heartbeat quickens in alarm. He isn’t too acquainted with the Chinese man, but knows of how fiercely he cares for his trainee.

"Hey—" they embrace tightly, Sehun muffling another hiccup into his friend's chest. Like Kyungsoo and Junmyeon, the two had grown very close over the years of Sehun's training, and what Kyungsoo is sure of the coordinator's character, from all of Sehun's accounts, is that his compassion surpasses his boldness. "I'm here. I'm sorry—Junmyeon told me everything."

"Is he mad at you?" the younger whimpers.

"No," Tao chortles. "He told me you begged him not to be mad at me. He said it wasn't my fault. I'm still sorry, Sehunnie, you shouldn't have known like that, but I wish you'd told me." He turns to Kyungsoo and greets him sullenly.

"Leader talked about you a lot." 

"Are you going to the operation tonight?" he asks.

"I'm the driver," the man replies, serious. "You're gonna have to know your positions, 'cause Baekhyun hasn't told us about you yet." The expensive watch he wears emits a red blink that disappears when he presses on it. "It's dinner time, OK? We need to get going."

Kyungsoo helps him pull Sehun to his feet, Sehun who wipes the last of his tears and changes faces like he changes clothes, on schemes and scenarios. He leaves the part of himself in the white space, the hard side of his life that’s no longer of use, of profit — Kyungsoo knows the sacrifice, and Sehun lets go.

The dining room that Tao takes them to isn’t a room but the highest platform in the compound that’s elevated over a spacious mess hall, fully crowded and currently in an uproar. The glistening table, adorned with candle lights and centerpiece bouquets, measures the length of the platform, and Kyungsoo guesses from the dark wooden chair at the end giving whole view to the space beneath — counters, benches, the crafted chandeliers, stray kites, and _people_ — that it’s Junmyeon's seat, his throne at the edge of the precipice.

Baekhyun appears with Jongin at his side and calls for Tao to come to him. Sehun rushes to Jongin, and Kyungsoo's thoughts rage when the brunet visibly tenses, steering himself clumsily into the blond's arms. Was he still mad? What did Sehun do to him? Kyungsoo moves in to see Jongin himself when Junmyeon steps onto the platform with a second man, tall and broad. It quiets on the lower floor immediately, the shuffling of benches echoing as everyone stands to hail the leader of EXO. Sehun goes rigid when their eyes meet, fingers curling around Jongin's as Junmyeon and his partner circle the table to their direction.

"Sehun," he says weakly when they face, "this is Yixing, our doctor. If there's anything you need, he'll help you."

The younger looks shyly at the man, black hair, teal eyes, a charming set of dimples on his sculpted face. "Hi."

"Hello," the doctor answers politely, glancing at Kyungsoo and Jongin. "Are you hungry?"

They take their seats in a planned hazard: Junmyeon at the end, Baekhyun and Yixing at his sides; Sehun sliding next to the doctor with Tao, Jongin and Kyungsoo in front of them. Kyungsoo nearly jumps when he feels Jongin's hand press against his and turns to catch the pointed smile he offers him. Jongin pulls back before Kyungsoo can reach for him, before he can hold onto the touch, and looks down at his plate. Kimchi stew, mixed plates of barbecue, fish and oysters, soup, water. 

"This table's never seen more people," his mentor laughs, attempting to lift the atmosphere. He glances at Sehun, but the younger has his eyes fixed on Baekhyun and Jongin.

Their little ensemble drowns in the soft lights, this party reception for their war. The transmitter's alarm reverberates anew into the silence, sequences of static counting the seconds for EXO's final pursuit. The guardian rises solemn with his glass, and turns to deliver his speech.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points at extremely convoluted narrative device and plot setting* is this a science?
> 
> thank u all again!! and no worries kyungsoo/jongin and pairings are coming!! xoxo


	5. Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! I'm sorry for the late update — this chapter was really hard to edit!!! I tried not to rush things too much and keep it consistent but it was a challenge :''''))) so I hope you'll enjoy this!!
> 
> — warning for some blood this chapter
> 
> (again english isn't my first language so sorry for weird phrasings and all!!)

Kyungsoo’s channel number is the 12. He supposes at first that it’s the number in chronological order of adherence for EXO’s members — Junmyeon being 1 — but he learns that Tao’s is the 68, which doesn’t make it so likely. Yixing, who owns the 10, tells him that they’re chosen _at random but not really_ by an operational setting on Junmyeon’s old watch, and that they’re like figures of a brand before they’re digits — “Your _attribute_ , of a kind _._ ” Channel numbers are given only to members, and now EXO has seven, something the doctor seems rather enthusiastic about.

Zhang Yixing is the first doctor Kyungsoo comes to know, and although he certainly has no license recognized by the city’s guild, the man is, unlike most of the market’s professionals, unpretentious, and attentive to their every worry. He emanates an energy of gentleness, in contrast to his broad figure, and he was the only one at the dinner table who could manage a smile, the only one whom Junmyeon could look in the eye while he tried to converse.

Yixing carefully fits the recorders on their company, black round mics straightened with a wire to the mouth; like Baekhyun’s piercing, the modified mic plays asset to the Cyclist, an accessory offering resistance to a _song_ ’s influence, in addition to being a communications device. EXO seems to dominate in an underground trade for specialized technologies, supplying merchandise and equipment, and Kyungsoo is regretfully reminded of Junmyeon’s extended resource network, his skills and peril status as both high-functioning market executive and insurgent group leader—traffic proprietor—strategist master—society guardian. Most wanted man in the country, with a _fortune_ in scores.

“88” glows on the side where the doctor painstakingly fixes the recorder on Jongin, taking his time to fasten the clip behind the brunet’s ear because he is, he warns him, the most _vulnerable_. The shouting in the adjacent room of the infirmary grows louder and angrier with every passing minute. Sehun sits on the homebed with his legs folded up, trying to block out the noise with his head against Kyungsoo’s chest. Yixing hasn’t left his side since dinner, and judging from the grave expression on his face, the disagreements are rarely this intense.

“They have nothing to do with this! _Fuck_ the network, they’re going to get hurt!”

“If there’s a chance they can make it work, then I’m taking it!” Baekhyun’s muffled voice erupts. “Yixing’ll be with him, and Jongin has Kyungsoo. You’re worried they’re going to get hurt—we’ll all get hurt! This is war, Junmyeon! How can you choose them over EXO, over _us?_ _What about us?_ We’ve worked our entire lives for this, Junmyeon—I’m not going to let you fucking take it from me!”

The words crack at the end of his outburst, and Yixing turns his head to the wall, hands stilling under Jongin’s jaw. The heavy silence that follows is interrupted by a single hitch of breath, a cut-off sob, and then nothing. Jongin narrows his eyes at Sehun, the frightened boy who tenses under Kyungsoo’s arm when, a minute later, the door is flung open and _Star_ marches in, eyes red and fists shaking. Baekhyun gives the doctor one hard look, and at once Yixing lets go of Jongin and dismisses them.

Kyungsoo tries to draw Baekhyun’s attention to him as he exits, but the other man is a statue. The commander of EXO doesn’t break, not like glass, but even the diamond-cut façade of silver gods can’t withstand the wound of the heart, and before they can move out of his sight Kyungsoo glimpses at the small man who shoves himself into the doctor’s arms.

Despairing and agonized, Junmyeon sits outside the infirmary, one hand gripping his mic and the other holding a stick-like item. Kyungsoo didn’t think he could look any more tired. Junmyeon catches his eye first, lazily gesturing him to his side. Sehun turns away, worrying his lip at the infirmary’s door, and Jongin walks down the deck to the rows of stationed motors, letting him be.

Kyungsoo wants to ask so much, he wants to know everything, mainly how and _why_ , _for all the love in the world, we had everything, hyung, why_ — but the urgency of their current state forced him away; the leader of EXO had a mission, and even after all the ordeal Kyungsoo couldn’t stop Junmyeon’s life’s work. It hits him then that there’s a whole side of the man he’s never seen — a secret history of Junmyeon’s own, with Baekhyun, Yixing, Tao… But it’s not EXO’s _Suho_ in front of Kyungsoo anymore, it’s the secretary of the Pharmaceutical department who speaks, the happy executive _Junmyeonnie_ who used to praise his mixes, who always encouraged him with tips — his dear friend and _hyung_ , above everything else.

EXO accursed. Kyungsoo could never see Junmyeon be as ruthless as _Star_ ; _Suho_ was an illusion, never the other way around, because it’s his mentor, always, who prepares him for battle:  

“I know you aren’t able to use your _song_ well enough, so we’re going to focus on your sleep factor instead.” He presents him with the item, an injecting piston with a white cover and a deep purple tip. “This is an instant sedative that I’ve developed, but because it’s a prototype, I can’t guarantee that it’s risk-free. You don’t ingest or inject it, it’s not tangible, you see—the chemical components are formulated inside a shock wave. It’s a direct delivery to the brain.”

“So I’m tasing myself to sleep,” Kyungsoo quips. “A tranquilizer.”

Junmyeon smiles briefly, pointing to the bottom that covers the purple part. “The shooting container that holds it is called a key — you hold it against your temple, and the dose charges through the channel here. Remember that it’s instant, it knocks you out immediately and the effects emulate those of a short nap. So we won’t have much time.”

He blinks, observing Junmyeon’s tutorial. “To do what…?”

“When we get to the Interior, you’ll be instructed to use this sedative when there’ll be security to handle. You pull them to sleep, and we take them out.”

He removes the disengaging pin and puts the tranquilizer in Kyungsoo’s hand. Junmyeon’s eyes lower to his old watch, lingering on the crystal, before dropping to the ground. There’s an outpour of anguish brining over him, for only a second, before he says: “You have three shots, Kyungsoo. Make them count.”

Kyungsoo is startled when he sees the new tears stream down Junmyeon’s face, that he quickly hides in the crook of his arm. Small footsteps break into their company — Sehun approaches them with worry, voice low and weakened.

“Hyung, what’s going on?”

Junmyeon raises his head, drying his eyes and averting the younger’s gaze. Kyungsoo stands up to leave them alone, but his mentor's answer makes him halt. “Sehun… You’re coming with us. I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo immediately stiffens. “What?”

“Why? I thought I was staying with Yixing?”

“You will. It’s because you have a _closed_ voice, like Jongin. Baekhyun thinks we’ll have a chance to properly connect to the network once we reach the central point of the city. But Yixing will be with you the whole time, OK? Kyungsoo and I will be by your side too—I promise we’ll take care of you.”

While the younger considers, trying to comprehend the man’s precipitated explanation — “A what? Closed?” — Kyungsoo loses himself in the flurry of his thoughts. First Jongin, and now Sehun. How could he let this happen to them? How many more promises would they have to make? The War was supposed to be over, their past should’ve stayed where it was — they couldn’t be here anymore. Now should’ve been their time to live, to thrive, to be _happy_ at last. So _why_ , then? Why are they still suffering?

EXO and the Park regime no matter what, Kyungsoo knew: his Cycle was responsible for this. _I’m so terrible_ , Junmyeon’s plea echoes in his ears, echoes inside with his succumbing heart.

Baekhyun— _Star_ reappears with his neck arrested in black, his beautiful eyes glossed over. He paces to Kyungsoo, burning a glare into his head. Kyungsoo is alone with the ruin just as Baekhyun is alone with his hatred, decaying in the damage of his body, his own poison. They see him as something formidable, a blazing _star_ in the limitless, but in truth Baekhyun’s a match burning out, struggling to stay alight. He is splendid because he fights, but he never stops fighting, and so the splendor falls ill.

The leer _Star_ bears into him is full of a fury that diffuses like fireworks, emanating in quavering sparks. His breathing is strained, heavy like his movements. There’s so much hurt in him.

“You’re going to do everything I say.”

He switches the channel on his mic; the number 4 illuminates the small compass over his ear. _I’m going to use you_ , the glare says. He’d show just how he hurt, and he’d show Junmyeon how much of a fool he was to love like this — all in. _You don’t deserve him_.

Yixing resurges behind them with another mic, for Sehun no doubt, and Baekhyun shoots Sehun and Junmyeon a vicious look before turning back to him. Kyungsoo gazes at where EXO’s ailed leader whispers to the younger, where they witness the ring of Junmyeon’s watch twist, where the man’s sedated current falls under Sehun’s — the wind pushes the sea, and the torrent recedes.

Kyungsoo’s eyes travel to Jongin, lovely and _broken_ Jongin who stares up intently at the two in the corner, brows furrowed in concentration. Did he envy them like Kyungsoo did? Did he see amends where Kyungsoo projected them?

_Why won’t we look each other in the eye anymore?_

Kyungsoo approaches the ledge, drawing the man’s attention. When their gazes meet, the brunet sighs, fingers scratching at his bruised face, and then looking down like he doesn’t know what to do with them. The poor man seems torn between melancholy, and something out of spite.

_Why won’t we communicate?_

It was lost to him. Jongin disappeared in the way shuttles shoot out view, in plain sight, vanishing at the first turn of distraction. He’d abandoned their _forever_ , at the top of the stars. Where was the man who wished that the night would never end? Why did Jongin give them up so easily? The blue storm of his eyes has cleared, and now Kyungsoo begs the ash instead.

_Why won’t we love again?_

 

—

 

Tao’s motor is a white speed hybrid of his own design. _Star_ perches himself on the hood’s retracting platform, belts hooked to his track pants and body worked up in a frenzy. Junmyeon occupies the passenger seat, head buried in a series of monitors displayed in front of the panel, trackers readying to record the course. Jongin, Kyungsoo and Sehun squeeze themselves in the back, while Yixing kneels inside the coffre’s compartment, guarding the tail. The rest of EXO’s participants, hundreds and hundreds more, are divided in multiple units sliding out behind them in a vast tunnel, airless and empty of blinkers. The low moan of the motors’ whir makes a terrifying sound, like slaughter drones in a line.

An old pair of red headphones personalizing his mic, Tao slowly drives them out— _up_ the compound. Off the perimeter of EXO’s base, the formation must cross an arch above the ground before it can infiltrate the Unit Tunnel, and then find the Interior’s passage. At the peak of the arch, a signal siren is to be released to alert the exterior units of the countdown; Baekhyun has to reach the exact height level at the right time for the signal to be properly received, a task that seems like an exploit to Kyungsoo, though he knows it’s routine’s work for EXO’s redoubtable commander.

The whistle of the accelerator grows louder as they approach the route. Tao’s sharp eyes focus on the invisible path in front as he swaps the gears; the tracks below switch, sounds of metal grinding and the locking of the rails. He controls the exit’s route sequence in the complete darkness, drives perfect in the blind. It’s as remarkable as it is disconcerting.

Restless, _Star_ tightens the straps around his waist and accepts the small disk Junmyeon passes over to him. Sehun jerks when the motor takes a particularly curt swerve, and Kyungsoo caresses his hand. Judging from _Star_ ’s crouching stance, Tao has entered the climbing port leading to the portioned arch. The wheels shift, and the vehicle gradually inclines backward. Behind them, Kyungsoo spies the squadron of motors creep, engines muting. Tao stabilizes, waits, and then pushes the gear to charge them up. Kyungsoo’s head and back hit the seat, and his heartbeat booms in his ears. Jongin raises his head to peer at _Star_ ’s barely discernable figure, yanking back at the belt as they climb up at increasing speed.

These few rushing seconds are too much for Kyungsoo: the loudening screech of the motor, the cold wind charging against them, the forceful shake of their compartment, leather and skin vibrating against skin, the ghost of an attack chasing their lead. The motion doesn’t quite compare to a rollercoaster’s, but he can’t think of anything else to describe it, the negative kind of thrill where the exit can’t be seen. So he bears the light in front of them, gapes wide-eyed at the swirling brilliance opening to Seoul-D’s dark night like a hole in the sky.

At the sound of Baekhyun’s gun charging, Jongin, Sehun and Kyungsoo all turn to the eager man who anchors himself and folds his knees. Junmyeon closes each of his monitors and raises his arm in the air; his watch’s ring forms a blue light, and instantly the entire line’s momentum speeds up, so fast that Kyungsoo fears they’ll be thrown off the course at the peak. Tao’s hand shifts the gear at the last second; “Ugly city dies tonight.”

The light hits them like a storm and the noise is engulfed by the vacuum effect of the tunnel’s breach. In the silent, sinister air of Seoul-D that wraps them in the high, Kyungsoo catches the familiar blinker of the skyspire behind where Baekhyun jumps, his feet bouncing off the hood as he lets himself be carried by the motion. In this blood-tingling split-second, Tao moves quick, incredibly switching the gears again, like he’s above the time, and it’s in the _impossible_ frozen moment when the motor seems to slow that they see _Star_ ’s light deploy, the silver grace of an angel in suspension, cast into the night. Baekhyun’s lithe body swings, springs up, then recoils at the stretch of the belt when he reaches the zenith — a portrait of the celestial. He’s almost parallel to the motor as he extends his hand and shoots the siren into the dusk above them.

They are propelled back into the pitch-black of the tunnel route like they were thrown out, without relief, like creatures of the sea emerging for breath. Baekhyun’s body wrings itself in a practiced maneuver as he falls, falls so gracefully into the window. He lands head back into Yixing’s hold inside the coffre, consumed by the darkness. In the passenger seat, Junmyeon has his eyes closed, head thrown back in the wind’s current like he is euphoric, breathing the soul of the city before they plunge into its gaping mouth. 

Kyungsoo’s heart lifts as they drop into the route. The row of motors trail behind them, curving the slopes in tandem when they skid to the bottom, the roar of their charging down resonating in the confined space. As soon as they reach steady ground, Jongin whips up, fingers gripping at the sides of the compartment.

“We’re under the Night Fair?” he exclaims over the turbulence.

Tao snorts, eyes never leaving the route. “Leader owns the Night Fair!”

Junmyeon shakes his head in response, opening the monitors again for him to check their course. At Yixing’s side, Baekhyun unclasps the belt and carelessly crawls over them to Junmyeon’s shoulder, reaching for one of the trackers. Tao immediately scolds the man, yelling about a safety strap, when Junmyeon raises his watch again and the ring shines purple.

“We’re approaching the Unit’s entrance,” he announces into the recorder. “Positions.”

“Baek, put _the fuck_ your belt on!”

“Pull into the crossing, Tao!”

“I will when you fucking strap!” he hollers, hands dragging back the wheel as they slide into the route. “Yixing! Will somebody give him a belt!”

“Baekhyun, come on,” Junmyeon orders.

Sehun, closest to the platform, swipes one of the belts and hands it over to him. The second after the commander fastens it around his waist, Tao’s resistance exhausts and his hands slip down, effectively pushing the motor into the crossing. The compartment rocks at the impact and Baekhyun is flung back, landing directly into Kyungsoo’s chest with a yelp, the chain of his piercing slapping the side of his face. Kyungsoo grabs at the man, pushing him off, and Junmyeon turns to him, pink hair obscuring the angry scowl over his face. “ _Focus!_ ”

Kyungsoo doesn’t see _Star_ ’s response as they both direct their attention back to the screen of Junmyeon’s seat, where the purple blinking signals the approach of the target in front of them. The rails close in and suddenly start to multiply. “Shit—that it?” Tao peers closely at the route’s course and begins a long series of intricate sequences reproducing the tracks, following into the portal of the secret route riding to the Interior. Because the weapons convoy possesses a detector, their formation camouflages itself in waves as their driver enters the blindspot of the transport’s shuttle’s head. To breach the hidden route from their current one, Tao’s window of exit is a small hole at the end of the sequence’s passage, and he must charge into it at the exact moment to allow the rest of EXO’s line to pass.

The roar of the convoy on the other side of the wall is merciless as they glide closer, faster, to the edge of the route. When Kyungsoo finally sees the hole, he realizes it’s at the end of a pitch, and that not only does Tao need to angle them at the right time, he also needs to turn them almost upside down to perform a literal drop through the entrance. It’s distractingly similar to the orbits inside the underground modules of the Night Fair, only this one is cut off mid-loop.

Baekhyun presses on the side of his recorder and a mask materializes over the lower part of his face. Junmyeon and Tao do the same, and the rest of the passengers follow suit. The countdown on the monitor flashes and everyone braces, the thrill and dread pulling them down. “Now!”

Tao slams on the accelerator and spins the wheel, zooming forward. Their bodies fall to the left as the motor ascends and revolves, whirling into the opening. Kyungsoo’s eyes shut tight and he feels himself go round as they are sucked into the entrance. The formation of their motors twist in the rapid line, bursting out of the tunnel and into the new route.

The rough landing he prepares himself for never comes; the hybrid drops smoothly, gliding down on the rails in an impressive maneuver, Junmyeon pats Tao on the shoulder and the driver whoops.

The convoy for the weapons is _massive_ , grey and bulky like a train of military rigs, and races down the route beside them with a thunderous chugging sound. Tao inches them toward the head at breakneck speed, the new rush of adrenaline fueling them all. The motor formation behind the hybrid splits into several rows, some gliding over and upside down the passage to secure the convoy on the other side. It’s a fine display of coordination and agility, and Kyungsoo can’t help but to admire the army behind their backs, an entire fleet at Junmyeon’s loyalty.

“We’re going in,” the commander says, hoisting his gun. His fingers hover over the clasp of his belt, awaiting Junmyeon’s indication. A few seconds later, the man raises his watch and each motor of the formation releases bolt-nets onto the shuttle. Baekhyun hurls himself onto the compartment with a dozen participants clambering over to his side. One of them shocks the panel for the door that slides open with a puff of smoke. Junmyeon eyes his commander anxiously, watching him disappear into the transport’s head with his followers.

At the back, Yixing locks the hybrid onto the shuttle’s head, harnesses securing them onto the connecting rods. Tao swaps the gears and puts the controls on standby, turning back to link a hand with Sehun. “You OK?”

The younger nods weakly, eyelids drooping in dizziness. Jongin steadily observes the new trajectory on Junmyeon’s monitor, briefly glancing here and there at the doorway where _Star_ and the others have infiltrated the convoy.

Not a sound can be heard from the inside. Their transport rides the route, solid and stable, the whir of the motors filling the hot air. Kyungsoo stays vigilant despite the lack of reaction inside the head and observes, wary. Junmyeon surveys the door, his hand going to his recorder, but he hesitates, exchanging concerned looks with Yixing. After a minute of anticipation, a low hiss emits from the head, and the shuttle tires out, slowing down drastically. Junmyeon presses on his channel, removing his mask: “ _Star?_ ”

No answer, though Tao looks more confused than worried. Even so, Junmyeon surprises them all by charging his gun, squatting up on the platform. Yixing hastily moves behind Sehun and drapes his arm in front of the blond’s chest, holding him back, and taps once on his channel. “ _Star?_ Can you copy?”

Jongin straddles Junmyeon’s seat to get a better view of the monitors as well as the convoy’s door. Kyungsoo sees the purple dot on the tracker where the man looks, their transport still far from the wide square situating the Interior.

“Baekhyun!” Junmyeon calls out. “Answer me!”

The static of the channel soon cuts through the tension. “ _Copy_.”

“What’s going on? Did you take hold of the controls?”

“ _Yeah_.” Behind them, EXO’s participants swiftly climb onto the shuttle’s compartments, breaking their way in. Baekhyun breathes easy. “ _There’s no one_.”

Junmyeon’s hand catches his mic. “What?”

“ _There’s no one on the shuttle. It’s automated_.”

“It’s automated?” The man frowns, suspicious. He looks back at his monitor. “OK. Well—you can proceed.”

“ _Copy_.”

“Why is it automated?” Tao turns to ask. “I thought they’d have the entire force on it.”

“I think it was safer for them like this,” Yixing says. “There’s lots of explosives on the transport. Also, the tunnels weren’t fit for human operations…”

The shuttle head’s door slides open and the participants leap out to the back of the compartment. Balancing on the dome, they disconnect the drawbars when Junmyeon accords it to them, and fix in its place a transformer, white portable engines to drive machines. The leader’s watch flares up and a second later the body of the shuttle pushes back, detaching from the head, and retreats to the back of the route where it shrinks in the distance with the rest of the formation’s motors. The transformer propels the cargo of weapons in the opposite direction, returning to the tunnel where the operation can unfold.

Junmyeon gives them a salute, and the song echoes back. “ _EXO, we are one!_ ”

“We did it,” he says, to no one in particular. “This is it.”

Seated on coffre, Yixing waves goodbye at the participants receding from the view. Kyungsoo manages a fond smile when the doctor turns back to Sehun and him, gesturing to the channel on the younger’s mic, the 94. “How do you feel?”

“I’m OK.”

“You can relax, we’ve secured the convoy. It’ll be a while before this takes us to the Interior.”

Passing his monitors, Junmyeon stands up and escalates the beams to the shuttle head’s door, going to investigate with _Star_. Jongin takes his seat and pulls back the belt, much to Tao’s consternation.

Sehun absent-mindedly fidgets with his scarf, then leans back against Yixing. “Um—hey?”

“Hm?”

“Junmyeon told me about it earlier, but what exactly am I going to do when we get there?”

“Baekhyun wants you and Jongin to use your voices to connect to a network. It sounds very complicated, but don’t worry, I’ll help you with it.”

“But how? I don’t sing… I don’t know my _song_.”

“I know, it’s OK,” the doctor reassures him. Kyungsoo and Sehun lean close to watch him rummage through his coat and take out a pair of chained earrings. “Do you believe in _magic?_ ”

At the front, Tao lets out a laugh, and Sehun squints at the accessory, unsure of the man’s intention. “Uh—not really.”

“I make the rings like the one Baekhyun has on his lip. I cut them out in stones and crystals, and boil them in herbs. They help you connect with your Cycle. Come here.”

Sehun hesitantly presents his ear to him, looking straight into Kyungsoo’s curious eyes. “Do they really work?”

“I say they do,” Yixing replies. He tightly clips the earrings on the outer side, letting the chains dangle below Sehun’s lobe. “This will help you concentrate on how you hear your voice, so you can find the point of your _song_ where the network should be sensible to you. You have one of the most closed voices we’ve ever heard, so it should work. When we get there, I’ll use my Cycle to help yours. Give this to your friend, will you?” Kyungsoo takes the second pair and hands it over to Jongin, who puts it on wordlessly.

“Won’t say it’s magic,” Tao comments, pointing at the set of glimmering studs on his own ear, “but they sure help you focus. Just remember — _you’re the Cyclist. Not the Cycle_. You can make it do what you want, but you don’t have its power.”

“What if someone affects me?” Sehun evokes, toying with the chain. “What if they cycle me to sleep—I mean, Kyungsoo can do that to me. My Cycle is pretty weak.”

Yixing lowers himself on the coffre to his level. “Your mic is built with waves to resist against it. It’s not 100%, of course, but with Baekhyun and Junmyeon’s cycles next to you, you’re sure to not get pulled in. Kyungsoo is strong too, I can tell.”

“He is,” Sehun agrees, smiling sadly his way. “It’s just like old times, hyung.”

Kyungsoo’s heart sinks and he squeezes the blond’s hand. These slow minutes aren’t for Kyungsoo’s worries, not for the weight of the tranquilizer in his jacket; they’re for Sehun’s fears, his troubled breeze that surrounds them, carrying away the rhythm of their calm, the haunt of their past. He hopes that in the forlorn look he gives him, Sehun will understand: _no, it’s not like then_ , because now they’re not children in their games anymore, they’re in the war, the _real_ one, and they’re the ones doing it, _the war is them_. And Kyungsoo prays to the skies that they make it, that Sehun will choose to stay by his side at the end of it all, like he always has. He prays to _God_ that they live to see the sun again.

In the front, Jongin sits with his arms at his sides, listless, contemplating the surge of lights on the route, the dance of the blinkers on the panel. “How do you know?”

Yixing hums in question, and from the mirror Kyungsoo spies the brunet’s expression, frozen in apathy.

“How do you know you’ll win?” he speaks up, never looking away from the monitors. “We’re playing our odds. What makes you so sure?”

There’s a hint of angst in his voice, there somehow, just somewhat. Kyungsoo learns then how hatred, the most vengeful kind, expends a person; the lilacs in Jongin’s hair wither, his skin rusts with the sentiment. He too, has so much hurt in him.

So Kyungsoo doesn’t know anymore, and unlike Sehun, he isn’t fazed by his words. Yixing expression is blank, unsuspecting.

“ _We’ll be the lucky ones_.”

 

—

 

Kyungsoo senses the problem the second the shuttle locks onto the bay. It’s Baekhyun before him, however, whose movements come to a stop, his calculating eyes that still and fixate the empty space, the compartment inside the head where their company has migrated — all this before the transport even reaches the bay’s perimeter. One trembling hand reaches for Junmyeon’s chest and the other grabs at his temple, Baekhyun sets the atmosphere in stone.

“What’s going on?” Sehun asks as Yixing suddenly crowds him where he sits on the floor.

“Junmyeon?”

“I can feel it.”

“Feel what?” Kyungsoo takes a heavy breath, a sensation of vertigo throbbing inside him as the shuttle comes to a stop. It’s the creeping waves that forewarn danger, a feeling of being watched, _caught_. Something’s here.

Baekhyun’s arm tackles Jongin’s chest when the brunet moves to open the shuttle’s door. He pushes him off briskly, irritated.

“Don’t touch me—let’s go already—” But the commander shakes him back forcefully, shushing and glaring. He seethes at Jongin when he makes a second attempt to break out, eyes full of precipitated rage — Jongin is here to _kill_ someone. Kyungsoo is about to intervene when Tao shuts the lights and Junmyeon reaches for him. Above them, the faint rumbling announces a storm.

“ _We’re surrounded_ ,” Baekhyun whispers grimly. “I can feel an army of cycles. Around us.”

“I can feel it too. There’s got to be at least a hundred of them,” Junmyeon rasps. “But how?”

In Kyungsoo’s pocket, the tranquilizer rests heavy with the warning above their heads, the muted siren that spreads and invades the compartment. Even as they’re completely out of the sight, enclosed inside the walls, plunged into darkness, Kyungsoo senses the kind of intrusion from where they hide, the imminent threat that hangs, holds them hostage — fear in the blind. He instinctively steers himself toward Sehun, because this is what it used to feel like, huddled in holes and swallowing cries, children waiting for the damage to scatter or bring chase — breaking _prey_.

Baekhyun’s Cycle seeks, outside, crossing bodies concealed in the shadows, passing through like wind, like light. A Cyclist establishes contact, unseen. The look he gives Kyungsoo is full of urgency, and conveys everything.

Junmyeon watches with presentiment — Kyungsoo stutters a breath and shakingly reaches inside the jacket, heart racing. Baekhyun rudely pushes him to the door and he staggers, air knocked out of his lungs when he noses the hard black metal, smells the chemical polish of an industrial death on the other side that awaits the face-off. He stares paralyzed inside this shade of black, the rebellion, the _revolution_ — Kyungsoo enters the gunfight with a cross over his heart, a lullaby on his tongue.

And the cold sweat dries up in absolute fear, body on the verge of collapse from the strain — _what had he gotten himself into?_ — but astonishingly he stands, miraculously he endures it. Kyungsoo goes deaf with the suspense, the silent ticking of Junmyeon’s watch.

The commander’s hand crawls to the handle and his cold steel eyes force themselves into Jongin’s, driving him into submission. It’s a competition of dominance, with heads for prizes; Jongin thirsts for blood, but Baekhyun knows it better.

“Turn your channel,” he sneers, and swipes the lock.

“ _What the hell?_ ” Jongin exclaims as Kyungsoo resolutely raises the tranquilizer to his head.

There are hands spreading against his back, and his eyes are wide open when he presses, when the shock delivers, painless, and in an infinitesimal piece of lunacy Kyungsoo thinks _there must be a resemblance to shooting yourself in the head_. The last image is the sea of guns trained on him inside the cut frame of the door, the pale fog of the night over the discharging bay.

The melody finds him again in the ruins. There’s no chance now that he isn’t alone, but something is off in the air inside the newly occupied space of his dreams. The terrain is clean, dry, earth sticking like plastic, toxic without a kind of pure waste — Kyungsoo is without the violence that chokes, no rubble, shards, blood. It’s unnatural because it feels simulated.

He runs in circles, trying to grasp the source of the music — it’s a _song_ , calling for him.

“Hello!” he throws into the void. “Hello?”

A familiar voice, perhaps Yixing’s, reaches for him first, “ _Hello._ ” The soft brush of the Cycle tickles him, but the melody doesn’t correspond. “ _You’re here_.”

The space seems to tighten, trapping them in. “Is... Is this the network?”

“ _It should be, but because your voice is predominantly_ open _, you can’t see anything. This place is only and barely accessible to you in your unconscious state. You’re also not acquainted with your Cycle enough_.”

“Where are you?” Kyungsoo cries out, his senses going haywire. His steps slip where the ground, hot and smooth, starts to shake. It hurts to breathe. “Is it over? Can I wake up?”

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hello! Hey!” he shouts. The waves, the tremor — something’s closing in. “No!”

The voice and presence fade with the colours of the ruins, dirt turning to dust. Kyungsoo falls to his knees and tries to force the exit, closing and opening his eyes in a harsh motion. He hears the scream over the faint ringing in the distance, the awful synthesized white noise of machines. “ _Kyungsoo!_ ”

“Hey!”

Sehun is gasping, loudly, curled up at his side where Junmyeon and Yixing nurse him in a panic. Kyungsoo’s senses rush back to him, lighting up his nerves, and he’s so agitated for a second that he can’t register where he is or what’s happening. The sky’s murky fleece is a midnight hue, flares of light flashing inside the clouds, umber like they are burnt. Over his heaving breath, the rustle and clamor, is the abominable thundering above them, rolling out frightfully, and Junmyeon’s distressed voice piercing through to him: “Hey—hey, Sehun! You’re awake, it’s OK—look at me, look at _hyung_ —”

Kyungsoo loses his balance as he tries to gather himself up, toppling over and bumping his head against the doctor’s knee. It’s so dark and he can barely make out the silhouettes without the glare of the spotlights and the blinkers on their vests. Yixing makes a quick grab for his arms and roots him firmly on the ground. “Hold on—it’s OK, you’re awake. Can you hear me?”

Baekhyun is on his feet over their commotion, in a heated exchange with Junmyeon who interposes himself between him and Sehun. “Where did he see them?! How many are there?”

“Baekhyun, calm down! Give him some space!”

“ _How many?_ ”

Head throbbing, Kyungsoo lolls back and spots Jongin clinging against the shuttle head’s door, his eyes wide open in something like terror. Following his gaze over to the bay, Kyungsoo sees the cause for perturbation: white smoke, sirens, the dark mass of bodies strung in bolt-nets, dotting the area like dropped ink, a brutality too vivid to paint the picture, where Tao resurges from the _litter_ with a tracker, like a conqueror in death. The weapons he kicks back to the group are of high-grade and copy the models that Kyungsoo has faced all his childhood, the same hollow barrels that burned into his eyes, his mouth, his skin.

When Tao catches sight of Junmyeon warding off Baekhyun, he removes his headphones to his neck and lets out a furious shout. “ _Hey!_ ” Stomping into their circle, the driver pushes _Star_ back from where Junmyeon holds Sehun. “What the _fuck?_ ”

“Where are they? He saw the network!”

“Kyungsoo saw it too,” Yixing says. “Please calm down!”

Baekhyun glares down at Sehun and Tao snarls, nudging a leg in front of the younger. “Hey—back off!”

“ _Enough_ , all of you!” Junmyeon snaps. “Let Sehun talk!”

“What the hell happened?” Kyungsoo asks in alarm. Baekhyun whirls to where Jongin still gapes, frozen in shock, and barks out. “You—get over here!”

Jongin’s eyes land on Kyungsoo, and his body seems to shrivel up in both fright and indignation. There’s a crazed manner in the way he strides to their circle, panting hard. “What did you _do?_ ”

And Kyungsoo can’t stand it anymore, the aggressivity sets him on _fire_ and he holds the man’s stare, refusing to let himself be exploited by his emotions any longer. “What the hell is the matter with you? What’s your problem, Jongin?”

“What was that! Did you shock yourself?!”

“Both of you _shut it!_ ” Baekhyun yells, yells hard over the strike of thunder and Junmyeon’s growl. “We don’t fucking have time! There’s plenty more where _that_ came from—” he gestures loosely to the piles of round-up, unconscious bodies, “—we need to move! Where did you see them?”

Sehun shakes his head, choking out, “I—I was in a meadow, but they were everywhere. There were so many of them— _god_ , I couldn’t see anything, there were so many that they ran right through me!”

“A meadow?” Kyungsoo objects. “No, the network—I was in the ruins.”

“And I was in a garden,” Yixing replies. “It’s OK, the environments will differ according to the Cyclist. What matters is that you _saw_ people—you didn’t even fall asleep. Did you hear them?”

“What did they say?” Baekhyun presses.

“They just—I—” he glances at Jongin and locks eyes with Kyungsoo, taking a heavy breath. “There was something— _wrong_. They were screaming. Everyone was screaming like—like they were being killed. All of them, they— _oh my god_ , hyung, they were all screaming for help. They were running and screaming and I couldn’t hear anything, I—”

Junmyeon and Tao quiet him down when he lets out a shaky breath and covers his ears, the echo of the chaos ringing back: “— _ringing_ , ringing. I heard ringing, it was terrible.”

“I heard it too. Like drones.”

Yixing nods in confirmation, and Junmyeon looks at his commander. “There are Cyclists in there.”

The sky explodes soundly with the storm. Baekhyun straightens up but his presence falls, fails, the pressure drags his emotion to his feet on the fissured ground. He turns to the compound’s entrance and a second later the emergency sirens blow out. The monitors on Tao’s hybrid light up, blinking loudly for attention. Seoul-D calls out for them from every place; the reception is here.

Tao stands up and puts his headphones back on. “You guys better fucking go already.”

“You’ll be OK here?” Junmyeon asks him, turning his watch and channel. His hand brushes Sehun’s. “Maybe you should stay.”

“ _No_ ,” Baekhyun says sternly. “He’s going to locate the Cyclists.”

“You _watch it_ ,” Tao warns as Junmyeon exasperates. “He had nothing to do with this.”

Yixing cuts in promptly, “I’ll look out for him, OK? We all will. Sehun is strong, he managed to see the network without his _song_ —isn’t that good? We’ll be able to tell RM when this is over, Baekhyun.”

“ _When this is over_ ,” the driver reiterates, “we’ll be lucky to be alive.”

With that last remark, Tao tosses the tracker in Junmyeon’s hands and heads back to his motor, connecting to the monitors. Kyungsoo mulls over his words; he hadn’t thought to ask Junmyeon for his plans succeeding the _breach_ —if they succeed at all. If the General accords them a reform, did it mean that he was truly relinquishing the city to them? EXO had their network, but it couldn’t be so vast as to operate an entire capital, one that had been turned inside out four times already. What of the government? What would become of the country?

In a gesture of compliance, Baekhyun puts his hand out in front of Sehun, though it’s no offer of compassion. Kyungsoo moves to support the younger as well; Jongin still glowers at him, and he’s so _finished_ with it, the dullness, the absence, that he has it in his mind to cry. He thought he could take it, but it’s so much worse than he ever could have anticipated.

Junmyeon watches him pull themselves up with Yixing, collecting discarded weapons, and through the obscurity Kyungsoo sees the dejection in his eyes, the injury of the blame with which he curses himself. Junmyeon bears it, would bear it like he bears everything, intimately and without rest, between himself and the condemnation.

With a sigh, he opens the stolen tracker, the illuminated visuals of the compound displayed he syncs into his recorder. Junmyeon rises, and it rains.

 

—

 

Kyungsoo thinks it’s this: Jongin’s body is here, but his heart isn’t. The passion that animated him has bled out, evaporated into the city smog, leaving only the dry shell of a man who moves like the dead, drags himself in the mud. Jongin moves without feeling, looks through everything, his limp touches are the ones of an impostor in a lover’s skin. He's no more alive than an automaton scouring the barren grounds of Seoul-D, awaiting termination.

Or Jongin’s heart is here, but his body isn’t. The vigor and grace calqued from his spirit have been wiped out. His steps don’t make walk, his voice doesn’t give speech, his breath doesn’t give him life. The flow of his movements is broken. Nothing about him moves like it belongs in the nature. If Kyungsoo can capture the breath of air that embargoes Sehun, then he can also weigh the space that Jongin plays around him, his game of full then null, a _dance of exposure_. A step here, a hold there — _where_ Jongin is mirrors the rule of his soul. But now the man has stopped _moving_ altogether, Kyungsoo senses everything because they’re undeniably connected, cycles and not. They’ve stopped synching; Jongin wastes the space between them and moves out of Kyungsoo’s orbit. There’s an artificiality about it. He’s pretending his presence.

And so Jongin isn’t here.

“To the left,” Sehun mutters flatly over the siren, his eyes fixed straight at the junction in front of them. The Interior’s structure is truly a maze, drab walls towering so high that the ceiling is barely visible. It’s certainly no place for work, and even less for habitation.

The map on Tao’s retrieved tracker guides them to the central sector, a level at the deepest end of the compound. Baekhyun leads them inside, stalking elegantly into the dark like an animal in flight. Often he glances back at his line, Jongin trailing behind him first, fidgeting. Their company slides into the narrow passages, red light sweeping over, the almost tender embrace of the vibrations, spreading all around them.

Junmyeon eyes where Sehun holds Yixing’s hand in a solid grip. He and Kyungsoo close the line, treading carefully between the platforms.

“It’s the right,” Jongin retorts, pointing at the tracker in Baekhyun’s hold.

“No, there’s… something,” Sehun persists. He hums softly, trying out his _song_. “I can’t see it, though…”

“The central sector is on the right,” _Star_ reaffirms, not sparing him a look. “That’s our priority. Are you sensing Cyclists or not?”

“It’s…” The younger trails off, squeezing Yixing’s hand. The line comes to a stop and Kyungsoo notices the clearing ahead of them, where echo the alarms on the doors, the low whir of engines. He cuts in the dark the shape of attack motors. Baekhyun turns the dial on his mic and looks to the back, at Junmyeon first, then at Kyungsoo.

A second they’re hanging in the quiet, then Yixing grabs Sehun and crouches them behind a divider, Junmyeon disables his mask and charges to the front of the sirens’ call with his commander. Kyungsoo doesn’t let himself think this time, just drops to the ground and captures the ring of light of Junmyeon’s watch, closing his eyes on the image before bringing the tranquilizer to his temple.

The visit is shorter the second time, and he’s barely able to move inside the terrain that shakes like an earthquake. The ringing is still so sound, and it’s with the shrill note that he counts the terrifying seconds until he wakes, until a hand pulls him up before jabbing him back down.

Gunshots, drones, the blare of horns, _singing_ — Kyungsoo fights for his breath, crying out around someone’s grip. “Wh—” His mic is pinched and he feels a pressure above his eye before blacking out again.

Junmyeon’s _song_ storms in like nothing he’s heard before, his Cycle crashing through the field in one sharp wave, and Kyungsoo feels the environment sever under the impact, his own Cycle jolting back to not be torn out with the tide. Pain flares up in the center of his head and he cries out, lost in the expanse of his consciousness, and the nightmare. “ _Hyung!_ ”

Junmyeon’s high note fills the air as he resurfaces, completely incapacitated by the turmoil in his body. Sehun’s teary face comes into view and he ducks under the resounding blast, dust and smoke gusting in. Kyungsoo instantly falls into a lapsing space, regressing to the quasi-hysteria of the young boy who had ripped out Seoul-D’s knife and sunk it back into the city’s face.

“Sehun!” Yixing yells on his right. Kyungsoo tackles the younger to the ground and a round piece weakly hits his side. His jaw is so hardened that his teeth are hurting, and possessed by a forceful rage he raises himself onto the chaos inside the clearing, eyes running over the scene: _Star_ is making his assault at the door with Jongin while Junmyeon is caught in a motor formation, shooting, _bleeding_ , _singing_ his throat open—and Yixing fights off the projectiles, desperately navigating through the wreckage to reach both Sehun and his leader.

Kyungsoo’s body _seizes_ his Cycle and finally he screams, screams from the pit of his soul, clear into the gap. His _song_ is wrung out violently into the space, coursing, digging, until his Cycle compacts and he feels it discharge — the bursts that ghost inside his head are followed by the cries and crashes of guards from all sides. The force of his Cycle carries away his _song_ and Kyungsoo shuts his eyes when the stretch becomes too strong, too heavy for him to concentrate on the sound.

Only when he recognizes Sehun’s screams does he stop, collapsing to the ground.

“ _Kyungsoo!_ ” Junmyeon stumbles to his side, limping, and gathers him in his arms, “Kyungsoo, _fuck,_ I’m sorry—can you hear me? Hey, stay with me, stay with _hyung_ —” His lip is cut and there’s a gash on the bridge of his nose. He turns his head up — Kyungsoo touches his open ear and sees he’s bleeding too.

“ _Hyung_ —”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I shocked you again, we needed more time—“ Kyungsoo swallows, wheezing, and snaps up when he hears Sehun wail all of a sudden.

_“Don’t leave!”_

Junmyeon and him turn to where Yixing, cheek blood red with a ghastly burn, heaves the kicking man through the debris back toward them. “Hey!”

“Don’t leave! Please! _Where are you!_ ” the younger continues to yell, thrashing around. “Help me! Don’t leave!”

“Sehun! It’s me—Sehun, open your eyes!”

“Don’t go! _Don’t leave me!_ ”

The next second, the doors open with a deafening boom. The clearing falls to a doomed silence, laid out in the hiss of the vehicles, the reverberations of the metal, and Sehun’s whimpers. Baekhyun climbs into a motor and speeds down to Junmyeon’s side, flashing his channel.

“ _Hello?_ ” Tao’s voice comes through. “ _Deployment has begun, but I don’t have any news yet. What’s going on?_ ”

“We’ve cleared the main portion,” Baekhyun answers monotonously, barely a scratch on his face. Kyungsoo didn’t even hear him sing. “We need to move, now.”

“ _Left!_ ” Sehun shouts again, writhing in pain. “Left! It’s the left! Please—”

“No, it’s the right!” Jongin calls out impatiently. “The map shows—”

“The Cyclists are on the left!” Junmyeon exclaims angrily. “They’re calling for help! They might be getting killed right now, we have to go save them!”

“Junmyeon, if we don’t move now, they’re going to shut the central sector before we can get there!” Baekhyun crows. “There’s still more security and Kyungsoo doesn’t have any shots anymore!”

“ _Don’t leave me!_ ”

“ _Baekhyun_ ,” Junmyeon’s tone is grave and commanding. “Take Kyungsoo and—Jongin, get to the sector. Clear the space. I’m going with Sehun and Yixing to the left — do _not_ send the message before I contact you. _Do you understand?_ ”

Instead of a response, Baekhyun hauls Kyungsoo up by the neck and yanks him back toward the motor. Sehun seems to break under his Cycle’s influence, and he too slips back into the trauma when he sees Kyungsoo being dragged up the black vehicle. “ _No!_ No! Hyung! Don’t do it—no!”

“Sehun!” he screams back, but Baekhyun pushes him down and slams on the accelerator immediately. Kyungsoo is flung into the seat, scrambling back to where they disappear rapidly into the shadows. “Junmyeon! Hyung!”

“Kyungsoo!” He briefly catches sight of Yixing bringing a small syringe to Sehun’s neck, the younger shrieking out in agony. “Kyungsoo!”

“ _Fuck!_ ” he punches the motor’s panels, whipping back to Jongin and Baekhyun. “What the _fuck_ is the matter with you?!”

“We’re on a timer,” the commander says plainly, plunging them inside the rail-track on the right. The metal grinding is strident and the motor rocks with the force of the descent. Kyungsoo gasps hard in the backseat, trembling and holding back his tears. Jongin stays silent next to _Star_ and it’s _cruel_ , _monstrous_ the way they can’t see his torture, can’t hear his soul pleading for mercy. It’s an orchestrated evil and Kyungsoo submits to it, because what choice does he have anymore?

These insufferable minutes spent in the dark, tension heavy between the three, have Kyungsoo’s resolve breaking. What was he doing? Is this what he wanted? _I killed people_ , he whispers to himself with the gruesome realisation, his Cycle, his _song_. He’s a murderer, like his city before him.

“— _soo?_ ” the static brushes inside his ear and he quickly opens his channel.

“Hello? Junmyeon-hyung?”

“ _I’m here, I’m here, I’m sorry—_ ” he laments, covering a hiccup, “ _Are you OK? Are you far?_ ”

“We’re almost there,” Baekhyun replies. “Where are you?”

“ _We’re—are you OK? Can you stand?—we’re in a different compound sector. It’s really bright in here, and there are a lot of cameras. There’s a room ahead._ ”

“Hyung, is Sehun OK? And Yixing?”

“ _We’re going to be OK, but—park here, there—you need to hurry. Kyungsoo, are you still hurting?_ ”

“I’m OK, but… what happens if I need to Cycle? Do I—do I have to knock myself out?”

He can hear his mentor grimace from the other line, and it’s Yixing’s voice that cuts through the noise, “ _Absolutely not. Cycling on an instant physical blow like that with all kinds of strain to your brain is unpredictable for the Cycle — you’ll hurt yourself and everyone else, who knows. Even if you need it, you won’t know what it’ll do to you._ ”

“ _Kyungsoo, please, I don’t want to lose you… Sehun wants to talk to you, he… you…_ ” the static amplifies, erupting with a loud crackling sound, like sparks and flames. “Hello? Hyung! _Hyung!_ ”

A second later, the line goes out, and Baekhyun turns his dial, “Junmyeon?”

The light of the exit comes into view and it’s too soon, too much — Kyungsoo isn’t ready for this, he doesn’t want to do this anymore. One more step and he’s going to break down.

Baekhyun carefully slides the motor into the entrance, stopping in the front. The room is submerged in a clean white glow, a triangular light enclosed inside the concaved ceiling. The floor, cut in rich dark marble, grey streaks and dots, has a single line in a square pattern converging to the center. Sharp steel columns replace the walls, encompassing the room. The four spotlights planted behind the columns sweep their brilliance between the cracks, inciting Kyungsoo to the empty space. He climbs down the motor with Jongin, pressing repeatedly on his unresponsive channel.

Immediately, he feels the shift. The blooming pain in his head stops him in his tracks, and a chill runs up his spine. His eyes fall slowly to Baekhyun, who’s peering close at Jongin behind him. Kyungsoo’s Cycle is too slow when he reacts to the commander retrieving his gun; he turns around and just misses Jongin charging his weapon.

“Kyungsoo!”

Baekhyun falls to the ground with a string of blood from his chest, a deadened thud. Kyungsoo’s heart stops as he staggers back, and before he can even choke on the shock, mouth hung open in horror, Jongin points his gun right into it, his lifeless eyes creeping into Kyungsoo with the ringing of the machines, and the dreadful sound of Park Chanyeol’s laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drama aside.............. isn't the image of Kyungsoo sleeping on the ground while everyone brawls hilarious?


	6. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two shorter chapters ahead!  
> — warnings for blood, threats and some graphic violence
> 
> i'm trying to get the grasp on tagging and rating appropriately because this plot is getting way too intense and complicated for its own good....so like go big or go home I guess xoxo 
> 
> please enjoy more yelling!

“ _Baekhyun!_ ”

Minseok is the one who emerges first, dressed and draped in black all over — blouse, heels, the silk choker, his sharp eyes cloaked, tenebrous. He stalks close from the shadows like a phantom, pale face calm as stone and steps light, floating over the chill he introduces into the room. He circles around Baekhyun writhing on the ground, the blood bubbling from his mouth, and in the impassive look he gives him Kyungsoo sees discomfort mixed with disgust. A second later, the red-haired devil strides in behind him, his ever-consuming presence flaring up, and the frigid air in the room is quickly replaced by his blazing circuit, setting everything on fire.

“ _Welcome back_ ,” he greets livelily. Chanyeol is enveloped in a long suit jacket, thick chains and floral patterns crossing over his tall body. “Did you miss me?”

Kyungsoo is frozen where Jongin lays the barrel over his mouth. Chanyeol enters his frame of view, leaning his head against the brunet’s, flaming hair coupling the dry field of lilacs. The compass on his eyepiece is gyrating — he’s as terrifying as ever. “ _I_ missed you.”

“ _Jongin_ ,” Kyungsoo finally breathes out, hands trembling at his sides.

“Ah, _Jongin_ this, _Jongin_ that—” he gripes, “when are you going to care about something else?”

At their feet, Baekhyun retches, bloody fingers clawing at the gaping wound in his chest. Chanyeol kicks away the dropped gun next to the commander and spares him a distasteful look, like he’s disappointed. Jongin remains expressionless, his grip hard and cold stare unfaltering. When Kyungsoo finally dares to look at the General’s son, dares to make face at the _beast_ of Seoul-D, the last of his nerve crumbles with the words that fall back to his throat, and the man smiles his sweet, knowing, wicked smile.

“ _Oh_ , but that’s it, isn’t it? _Kyungsoo_ is an idle man, content in living in the swarm, until poor Jongin here tells him he’s scared, tells him that he’s all sad — _Kyungsoo-hyung_ , you wouldn’t let them hurt me, would you? Would you? — and suddenly he decides to give a fuck,” Chanyeol laughs throatily, his guttural voice mocking. “You know, you’re what’s _good_ , you’re what’s left of humanity. Your heart—it’s good. But you don’t care about anything else than what concerns you, your feelings. What serves your purpose, I wonder? You’re _in love_ , aren’t you? _Is Kyungsoo in love with Jongin?_ ” He keeps his eye on Kyungsoo and turns his head to Jongin, cupping his jaw. “But you’re loyal to Jongin here—not your love.”

Kyungsoo cries in disbelief, pleading, “No—no, how… _Why?_ ”

“How do I what? How do I know? _Why?_ Well, I’ll show you.”

Minseok takes control of the motor and Jongin crowds him onto it. Panicked, Kyungsoo eyes Baekhyun who keeps choking, spewing more blood, “Wait! No, _please_ —" Chanyeol wastes no time wrenching his arms and drops him inside the compartment. Jongin thrusts the gun into his neck, pushing him down, and Kyungsoo desperately tries to wrestle himself out. “Baekhyun!” he screams. “ _Baekhyun!_ ” Without thinking, he grasps at his recorder, switching the channel. Chanyeol’s breath ghosts over his open ear where he rips off the device, “Oh, it’s quite useless. They’re not going to answer you.”

Kyungsoo lets out a pained cry and Minseok presses on his ring, the line serpentining the marble floor surging in light. With a resonant clink, it splits open and lowers itself in a long slope zigzagging downward. The motor charges down the track as the floor’s parts continue to sink, abandoning Baekhyun’s body on the platform, and breaking out of the shock Kyungsoo’s heart finally _gives_ , ceases, shatters with his soul and his Cycle, and he suffocates at the fact that he’s still granted to breathe. At his side, Jongin’s trained gun on him is an illustration, fixed and bare, _claimed_ by the revelation. There’s no nature locating him outside of Chanyeol’s ownership or in the way he takes Kyungsoo hostage; Jongin is nothing now but the instrument of the situation. _Gun in mouth, no escape_ — live installation, Park Chanyeol, 3001. How did it come to this? How could Jongin be working for the regime? _How did I fall in love with this man?_ Kyungsoo deplores—but more than himself, how could Jongin turn his back on their history, how could he betray his very own revenge against the city that ruined them, that _murdered_ them, their youth, him and Sehun, _Sehun—_

“Where—” he swallows hard, gathering his voice. The redhead is sprawled at the front, observing with his iron eye Kyungsoo fall into madness. “Where are they?”

Chanyeol graces him with a curve of the lips in response, and Kyungsoo can’t control it as he lunges for the man’s neck. Jongin’s gun digs into his chest and crams him back into the seat while Chanyeol swiftly draws out a switchblade from his inside pocket, bringing it gently under Kyungsoo’s chin.

“Do you believe me when I say I avoid guns? Don’t be difficult. I can have fun hurting you more.”

“ _I’m going to kill you!_ ” Kyungsoo spits, nails digging into his palms. “I’m going to kill you!”

The blade nicks the skin on his throat, and Chanyeol taunts, “That’s what I want to hear.”

The motor accelerates, bursting through the darkness and into a wide room resembling a laboratory. The light over Chanyeol’s eyepiece blinks in sync with the one on Minseok's ring, illuminating his face every few seconds, his deep red hair and full smile — the General’s son is as handsome as he is abominable. If there’s a face of evil in this world, it has to be his.

“ _When the lights go out and the moon disappears, it’s still bright… because you are the star the sky dropped…_ ” the man sings softly to himself, and the tenderness in his voice catches Kyungsoo off-guard. Was this Chanyeol’s _song_? How leveled a Cyclist was the prince of Seoul-D? "Ah, here we are."

Inside the brightly-lit chamber, Kyungsoo immediately takes notice of the row of transparent encasings resting against the center wall, glass coffins decorated in glitter in every which there lies a body, wrapped in black and shrouded in an artificial mist. The rectangular frames lined above each encasing are animated with streams of codes in numbers and symbols, monitoring the patients.

Kyungsoo shakes and his Cycle stirs up with the echo of the ringing he heard before; the machines are here. The Cyclists are here.

Chanyeol grabs him by the collar of the jacket and drags him onto the glistening floor, leaving him to Minseok’s guard. Whatever sensible thing left in Kyungsoo dissolves with the strength in his rattling heart, and he can’t help but to dwell on the image of Baekhyun’s gory chest and the bloodstained knife over Sehun’s eyes, the sounds of Junmyeon’s screams and Yixing’s warnings, all of them still trapped in the maze, still searching, still holding on to hope, still…

Kyungsoo would break Park Chanyeol to pieces.

Jongin has the gun raised on him like a robot frozen in his task, and Kyungsoo stares, broken-hearted and inconsolable, into the void of his eyes.

“Why,” he rasps. “ _Why?_ ”

Jongin doesn’t even blink. Chanyeol approaches his side and plays with the chain on Jongin’s ear, resting his arm over his shoulder, tormenting Kyungsoo. He’s as bold as to stroke the side of his face, tilting his head in curiosity, feigning innocence. “Tell me. Do you still love him?”

Kyungsoo’s Cycle reacts against his judgement, rousing all the emotion left in his tired body, his beaten soul. What of that world they glimpsed at, together on the skyspire, fingertips skimming over the galaxies above them? What of their forever now, their heaven in the night? Jongin’s beautiful gaze, the flourish of his hair, the kiss of warmth on his skin. Jongin’s scent between the sheets, his hushed breath in the piece of midnight — _memories like fireworks in the corner of his heart_.

Kyungsoo knows they loved. He swears to _God_ they did. And he knows in the sob that rips out of him that he has no shame in the truth, only the guilt in the confession.

Chanyeol smiles. “That’s what I thought.”

“What do you want with me?” he cries.

“Kyungsoo is an exceptionally leveled Cyclist, as I said before. He’ll be the greatest addition to my collection.”

“Your _what?_ ”

The interrogation seems to invigorate Chanyeol, a turn for him to revel in the attention, to tell the tale at last. Kyungsoo’s blood runs cold as the man motions them closer to the captive Cyclists, hand sweeping over the scheme of data above one of the frames. He looks at Jongin, gives a small, funny smile, then turns back to wave at the comatose man. The next second Chanyeol appears wistful, before the satisfaction spreads over his face, sharpening the malice strung at the edges of his eye and lips.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” he starts, studying the monitor. “There is a world without good, without purity. Evil is all there is. It’s a bad, perverse world, full of corruption, cruelty, madness. In this world, people hurt each other everyday, everyone suffers, and it never ends. Sounds plain, doesn’t it? It’s a commonness. We’ve grown numb to the horror.”

Kyungsoo listens, apprehensive but also taken aback. Chanyeol makes accusations at the earth like he’s not himself part of the atrocity. “But now… whose fault is it? Someone has to be blamed for this, no? Someone has to be responsible for the pain, right? Someone—someone has to pay!

No, you see, it’s wrong. It’s not about who takes the blame: it’s about who must make the sacrifices. And who must _be_ sacrificed. It’s the solution that matters, not the cause. We’re far too lost into the problem to revert it — so we must work to transform it. To _finish_ it. We want the same things. We want the _end!_ ”

“What are you talking about?” The fear that slowly builds inside of Kyungsoo gives him a supposition for the worst. Glancing over to the imprisoned Cyclist, he feels a shiver creep up his neck. “What do you mean, the _end_?”

“When the Cycle phenomenon emerged—it was only for the public, the media. The Cycle had already been discovered and researched by then, tested out as well…” the redhead shifts slightly, burying his gaze to the ground for a second before he resumes, an indiscernible tremble in his voice, “You can’t understand the scope of its power. You can’t imagine it. Cycles are the key to the universe. You know what they do—you’ve heard the stories. You’ve seen yourself at the plaza! You’ve seen what it can do. You’ve felt the destruction, you’ve felt the pain. I felt it too.”

He raises his head, looking over to Minseok. Kyungsoo thinks it’s a mistake when he senses a kind misery in the softening of the shorter man’s black eyes.

“What do you know about cycles,” Chanyeol says, breaking away. “What have you been told? I know it already, of course — sleep influence, closed and open voices, your long-fabled network. You’ve successfully weaponized your _song_ and Cycle. Kyungsoo is so special! He’s special because both his _song_ and Cycle are particularly strong! _Not the strongest_ , of course—” Minseok's ears twitch, “—but definitely at the top. I think it’s even stronger than mine! You should feel good about that! Don’t you feel powerful? You’re a _menace_ , is that what you think? That you’re a threat to me? Far from that… Kyungsoo is a _savior!_ ”

He applauds vigorously, turning back to the encasing. “It’s true! You can use your Cycle to destroy others, but you know what’s been discovered that’s even better? Do you know the real secret of cycles? The real secret is that a Cycle possesses influence on other cycles. They’re all connected, birthed from the same orbit.” He swipes one of the compasses on the monitor, opening a diagram of registered waves. “Cycles are _susceptible_ to each other’s waves. That’s why the weak fall into the pull of the strong. Let me give you an example. Say… I want you to sit—will Kyungsoo sit for me? No? Well, if I have well-trained my Cycle enough, and my _song_ , I can _cycle_ myself into him; my Cycle can seize his and make him do what I want. Do you understand? Isn’t that incredible? And then you sit—like that! _You obey me_. Does that sound impossible? It’s not very hard, in reality, with the technology that I have. Do you believe that, _Kyungsoo-hyung?_ _Do you believe me?_ ”

Kyungsoo is speechless. He focuses too hard at the eyepiece that spins faster and louder, at how Chanyeol’s stare grows more intense with each uttered word, the hysterical tone in his voice.

“So think! To _cure_ this world, could we program the solution? Could we say… _Be good, be beautiful, be true, and love_ — and the world obeys? Can I do that? Can I _cycle_ the world into being good? Yes! Yes, I can! The most powerful Cyclists will use their waves to conduct the world, like music! They will make everyone be good, be beautiful, be true, they will make us love... We’ll live in perfect harmony, and there will be peace. The sun will shine on the earth again!”

“ _What the fuck?_ ” Kyungsoo blurts out. “No! You can’t control the Cycle!”

“ _I can!_ ” Chanyeol snarls, moving alarmingly close to his face, teeth baring. “I can harvest it, and its power! I’ve already done it, look— _look!_ Look at what I’ve built! I can make a better world for us with it! _Don’t you want that?_ ” He sounds all of a sudden so upset, and Kyungsoo sees it at last, in the quiver of his lips, the twisting emotion in his face — Park Chanyeol has suffered something terrible in his life, a wound that runs deep.

“It’s slavery,” Kyungsoo answers. “You’re taking people’s lives!”

“We’re all slaves to the Cycle!” he exclaims in counter. “You would let yourself be its prisoner? Don’t you want to live? Don’t you want a life that you can claim as yours?”

“ _I had that!_ ” he roars, and Minseok holds him tight when he lurches forward. “I fucking had everything! A house! A job! Friends! _I loved!_ I had a life, I had a life that was mine and you took it away from me! You ruined everything! And you—you killed people! You killed children! You killed my family, you killed Sehun’s family—you ruined the lives of millions of people!”

“Chanyeol,” Minseok calls out.

“No, let him talk,” he glares at Kyungsoo. “I need his spirit.”

The man approaches him again and Kyungsoo hates how he shrinks back at the scorching heat of his presence, the absolute violence Chanyeol projects, in his figure, his eye, his voice, his speech. He courses a hand through Kyungsoo’s dark hair, playing games like he does everything, with the intent of torture. Kyungsoo’s tears burn his eyes. “I’m going to kill you,” he says once more, pitifully—but it’s a promise. “I’m going to kill you. _You’re insane._ ”

“You can call me _monster_ all you want, you know—but _I win_ ,” he growls. “I win! I’ve already won. I know all about EXO's attack on the city tonight—my guards are killing them as I speak! When Jongin left with you, I intended that he follow you to see if you really were involved with them. And it turned out that you were, after all! Kyungsoo is best friends with the leader of EXO! Not _Star_ , no— _Kim Junmyeon_ , the market secretary, the last son of one of the richest families of the reform. Who would’ve thought? I hoped I’d be getting the commander, but when I learned you took us to EXO’s base and to their real leader, I thought: _I just hit the lotto!_ ”

“No…” Kyungsoo shakes his head. The base, Junmyeon. He’d lead Jongin right to them, and he had seen all the plans for the deployment. “How?” When did Jongin have the time to warn Chanyeol?

“I guess Jongin is on my side!” the redhead cheers. “Jongin sees my vision of the world! And he agrees with me! Isn’t it simple? These Cyclists you see here—they all agree with me. I have an army at my command, and they’re all trained for my plan. Do you see this? These machines? This is a superior technology beyond any knowledgeable science. It’s taken me years to build this, but I did it, at last. I've built the vessels for the future! With these machines, the cycles are enhanced to the highest level sustainable by the Cyclist, and I extract their waves so that they can fuel my ultimate weapon. With Kyungsoo's Cycle potential, I'll have even more power! With this, the Cycle is going to take over the city, and it’s going to take care of all you animals like _Star_ and your friends. _Bulletproof_ , the SM corps — I'm going to burn every single last of them to the ground. We’re going to purify everything. We’ll make a new Seoul again, and it’s finally going to be good. It’s going to be _perfect_.”

He closes the frame and gestures for Jongin to take Minseok’s place. The black-eyed man stands in front of Kyungsoo and pulls out his gun, leveling it between his eyes. Kyungsoo whimpers and flails back frantically — this is it, he’s going to die—no, even worse, he’s going to be imprisoned, exploited, Chanyeol is going to use him for the rest of his life.

“ _I’m happy_ , so I’m going to grant you one last will,” he announces simply. “Come to me—no, come to _Jongin_ freely, relinquish your Cycle to us without a fight, and I’ll treat you well. I’ll take care of you, Kyungsoo, my prized Cyclist. I promise! So be a good _hyung_ to him, will you not? Do this _for Jongin_.”

There isn’t anything left for Kyungsoo to do. He knows it, it’s gone, it’s over. Jongin's decision erased everything for them and made him disappear permanently. He made the choice and now Kyungsoo is left in the debris, in the ruins of their love, if they were ever there at all. And regretfully it’s the last thing Kyungsoo wants to know: _did you ever love me?_ _Did you ever feel anything?_ Or is he like them, a puppet, a _machine_. Does Jongin breathe? Does he have a voice, can his heart beat? Kyungsoo can’t believe it and yet he knows he’s given up; the injury has been dealt. It’s done.

He closes his eyes and cries one last time, letting himself grieve in the seconds he has left. He walks back inside his memories, inside his _song_ to love before he dies, and he wishes in end that time would stop, if only for him to feel again. One last second in _forever_ , with Jongin.

 _I love you. I'm sorry_.

His head turns before the moment, at the words that aren’t his heart's. He thinks that Jongin is the first to move behind him, but his senses recover; Minseok charges the gun and abruptly shoots Jongin in the knee. The younger falls to the ground with a scream, and the other man makes quick aim at Chanyeol. 

"Wh—" the redhead freezes, face falling.

"Drop the knife," Minseok says, and despite his smaller form, there’s an undeniable breath of authority in his stance. Momentarily paralyzed, Chanyeol looks more scared than in shock. His whisper is broken: " _Hyung?_ "

"Drop the knife, Chanyeol," he repeats, voice cold and stern. "Come on."

Jongin shudders and coils on himself, howling in pain. Chanyeol's eye darts from his body on the floor, to Kyungsoo, then his partner. "What?"

Kyungsoo watches with agitation the scene unfold, completely disoriented. And to his horror Minseok fires again, this time at the other knee. Jongin jerks once and cries out, voice tearing into the air frightfully.

"Stop!" Kyungsoo yells, dropping down to him. "Jongin!"

" _Drop the knife!_ " 

At his side he sees Chanyeol reach inside his coat and retrieve his switchblade without much of a shake in his hands. Unbelievably, the redhead kneels and chucks it on the floor, never breaking gaze with Minseok.

" _Hyung_ ," he calls again, and it’s almost sorrowful. Chanyeol peers up, mouth hung open with the hurt pulling at his lips, drawing out the distress in his eye. He looks terribly vulnerable, like this. " _Why?_ "

Jongin heaves on the floor, thrashing up, and lashes out when Kyungsoo closes in on him. "Jongin!"

"I'm not Jongin, you fucking idiot!" Kyungsoo flinches back at the words, the fury on his face, this face of a stranger exposed at last. " _What?_ " Kyungsoo turns back to Minseok and Chanyeol when the harsh sound of the gun charging disrupts the constricted air. Minseok stalks toward the prince, his icy look unrelenting.

"Give me the key."

And at that, Chanyeol's reaction finally turns hostile. "What are you doing?! Minseok! Hyung!"

"Give me the key, Chanyeol!"

"I—" he stops himself and bares his teeth, foaming at the mouth, eyepiece reeling faster than ever. Kyungsoo's heart jumps when the man turns his head to him with the most threatening glare, the cut face of wrath, and seethes under his breath: " _You did this_."

"Chanyeol, give me the key, now!"

"What did you do to him?!" he screeches, bolting up. "What did you do to my _hyung!_ "

With the following brusque movement, Kyungsoo braces violently in anticipation for the gunshot, but Minseok startles back when Chanyeol tears out a round pistol from the inside of his coat. The shorter man freezes and takes a step forward, hanging on to his weapon. Chanyeol's breathing is erratic, body worked up in rage, eye running delirious. A dark chuckle escapes him before he can bite down on the bitter sentiment.

"You won't shoot me," he declares confidently, despite the tremor in his grip. Minseok takes a deep breath.

"You won't either."

And Chanyeol's knuckles become so white that he could break his hold. The two stare down at each other fiercely, until Chanyeol locks eyes with Kyungsoo again, tight-lipped and jaw clenched hard. He looks over to Jongin and then at the Cyclist beside him. Minseok's eyes widen and he moves toward him with a jolt. "No—!"

Unblinking, Chanyeol lowers his arm and shoots inside the encasing. The burst of crystal is loud, loud as is the siren over the frame that flashes red, but not louder than the deafening blast inside Kyungsoo's head, the drop in his gut. Jongin's shouts die and his head slumps against his thigh, along with the rest of his body on the floor. Above them, Minseok is screaming for Chanyeol who runs away to the other side, but Kyungsoo doesn’t hear anything over the white noise, his own heartbeat thundering in his chest.

"Jongin!" he calls, he shrieks. "Jongin!" His eyes are open and hollow. His mouth hangs where Kyungsoo cradles it. "No—no! No!" The ringing accelerates and Kyungsoo goes _crazy_ , his Cycle spiraling out of his control to reach Jongin's — _cycle_. He has to _cycle_. But he _can’t_ , there’s no way he can work his voice now—no _song_ , no—sleep _—sleep,_ he has to _sleep_. He has to sleep— _how?_

He rocks the inert body beneath him, shutting his eyes, breath shot out of him. His frenzied Cycle diffuses around him like an explosion. When he looks back, he sees his reflection on the open floor, white, shined, and glossed over. _D.O._ 's petrified expression, his bad eyes. Kyungsoo grabs Jongin's wrist and brings his face to his child's, connecting their mouths. The space he raises is enough for one last breath — he locks his jaw and slams himself down, once, twice, losing count of the strikes when the blood runs to his lips, when he no longer sees himself anywhere.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : /


	7. She's Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real talk: I know where I'm going with the plot, but I literally have no idea what I'm doing anymore

“Hyung?”

Gravel crunches where Kyungsoo takes step, sneaking steadily toward the fissured wall. A small breeze drags the soot over his shadow on the ground. He crouches, feeling the dirt in his palms, and peeks over the concrete. In the shade lies the hole dried in mud, where the tuft of brown hair pops out.

“Hyung?”

Kyungsoo shuffles closer, waiting for the head to turn his way. He bounces on his feet, and a squeak erupts when he’s finally caught.

“ _Found you!_ ”

Kyungsoo sprints over to where Kai makes his quick escape underground. He drops down and the boy shouts excitedly, wriggling further down the hole, the _secret base_. He squeals in delight when Kyungsoo crowds him against the pit, hugging him tightly. “Gotcha!”

“You got me!” Kai cheers, dust on his eyelashes.

“I always do,” Kyungsoo says, blowing raspberries on the younger’s face and neck, earning him a fit of giggles. “Why do you keep hiding here?”

“Because hyung told me to!” He knocks their knees in the airless space that shelters them inside. “You said to come here when I have to hide.”

Kyungsoo blinks in surprise, but smiles fondly. Sadly. “That’s right.” He rubs the boy’s nose. “You did good. Hyung is proud of you.”

Kai nuzzles up against him, grinning happily. The little robot tied to his waist presses against Kyungsoo’s hip, snug between their bodies. Kai pulls it off to play with it, but he startles when Kyungsoo moves to climb. “No! Don’t go!”

“But we still have to find Sehun!”

“No! I wanna stay!” he exclaims, throwing his hand around Kyungsoo’s neck. “Stay with me.”

“Kai,” he calls, pulling him back. “What about Sehun? Don’t you wanna go find him?”

The boy pouts, kicking weakly in protest. “But I wanna stay with you… I wanna stay with D.O.-hyung!”

“Kai, we can’t leave him alone,” Kyungsoo says, “you wouldn’t want hyung and Sehunnie to leave _you_ alone, would you?”

The younger’s face twists in alarm at the words, and he shakes his head frantically. “ _No!_ No—hyung! Don’t leave! Don’t leave me!”

He buries himself in Kyungsoo’s chest and hooks his legs over him. Dismayed, Kyungsoo cups his face when he sees the tears form in his eyes. “Hey—hyung won’t leave, he won’t leave you…”

Kai’s hands fall to his sides and he goes quiet, leaving his breath to the silence. Kyungsoo strokes his back soothingly. “I’ll never leave you.”

"Promise?" he whispers, sniffling.

"I promise."

The boy nods, squeezing his hand. “I don't wanna leave Sehunnie alone... I’m sorry. We can go.”

Kyungsoo helps him crawl out first, and they rest against the wall on the surface, brushing off the dirt on their clothes. Under the light, Kai’s hair shines golden with a tint of pink, like roses in bloom. He smiles, walking his toy on the ground as they pace to the yards.

The peace is broken by the blaring horn of the rollcall alert. Kai cries out and throws himself onto Kyungsoo. “No! No! I don’t wanna—Sehunnie—!”

“It’s OK, I’m here, hyung’s here,” Kyungsoo shushes him hurriedly, glancing around the park. “Hyung will never let them hurt you.”

The younger whimpers in panic, clinging tightly to the arm that will be crushed bloody at the end of the day, begging for the touch that won’t come for weeks, months, years. The droning of a rotorcraft echoes in the distance; Kyungsoo spies the blurry figure of the marshals in black. The sun is bright, and the earth is warm.

He pulls Kai in his arms, closing his eyes. “ _Hold on to the thought_ ,” he sings over the haze. Kai breathes in, heart beating over the song — _thud-thud-thud_.

“ _Come back to our love_.”

 

—

 

He’s beautiful; Kyungsoo will acknowledge it later, when the weight of time will properly rest inside his body, his Cycle, his soul. It’s his eyes, opal green and glimmering, contoured by the nest of pearls, trailing his cheekbones, and the curve of his lips, the black space at the edges of his mouth when he speaks. The sculpt of his face is _good_ —he’s beautiful.

The man has already stopped singing when Kyungsoo wakes to the sight, the quiet. His head throbs in a horrible splitting pain. He licks his lips over his heaving, trembling breath, tasting the blood that isn’t there.

Fingers thread in softness, grass and hot grains, heels digging into the wet sand that slopes up the bank of stones and moss. Palms, flower shrubs, and oak trees climb up a craggy coast, the cliffs where the water cascades through the thick fog. The wind is high and loud inside the leaves.

The dark-haired man stands on the shore, dressed in white, expression blank. Kyungsoo brings a hand to his face, smoothing the skin over his eyes, undamaged.

"Where am I?"

"You’re in the network," the stranger says.

Kyungsoo glances around the beach. "This isn’t the ruins."

"You’re in _our_ network."

He runs his eyes over the view and tilts his head up. Thunder erupts in the sky and the clouds storm in, casting the island in a dirty gloom. Kyungsoo looks at the man. “Who are you?”

"My name is Jongdae. I’m a Cyclist."

Gruesome images flash in front of him: Jongin's knees bashed in, his lifeless eyes, his open mouth — D.O. somewhere between them, arm shattered, skull bloody. Kyungsoo jerks awake, gasping for breath.

"Do you remember?" Jongdae asks slowly. "You nearly killed yourself back there."

"What—what happened to me?"

"You made yourself black out," he answers. "You're asleep now."

"I—" Kyungsoo swallows, breathing out shakily. His body feels strangely tranquil, at peace. But the rhythm of his Cycle tells him that he’s not out of the nightmare. That Chanyeol's fire is alight, still burning in him. And Jongin is still dead in his arms.

"What's going on?" he chokes out. "What's happening?"

"I don’t have a lot of time," Jongdae announces, "so we need to hurry. Let me start: you’re three days in the past."

He blinks up at the man, meeting his eyes. " _What?_ "

"Today is January 13. We’re three days in the past."

Kyungsoo immobilizes, hands trembling with his voice. "What? What do you— _how?_ "

"I’ll start from the beginning." Jongdae says, and takes a deep breath. "Listen closely. When the universe was created, it was unable to sustain the strain of the energy. An orbit was formed to stabilize it; the first Cycle was born. Over the billons of years, it split into smaller orbits and spread across the galaxies to keep the balance. Everything in the universe has a Cycle. Nature. Space. _Time_."

Kyungsoo's heart surges all of a sudden and sees it, the canvas of the world, the stars, the planets, the wonders beyond — Jongdae opens his sparkling eyes and he falls into the orbit, crashes into the tempest of the cosmos — beautiful, eternal, _one_. He walks through the miracle of the creation, breathes in light and dark, life and death. Space. Time. His body melts everywhere, soul flowing through the course of the universe, beautiful, _beautiful—_ and in the harmony that echoes in the disintegrating space Kyungsoo feels Jongdae's _song_ charging into him — bright, brilliant, _familiar_. It tears him out of the vision and Kyungsoo wakes back on the beach, out of breath and _terrified_.

"W—what happened? What did you do?"

"I wrung your Cycle, and its memories before it came to you," he speaks, voice strong, _magnetic_. "Every living being is a host to cycles, but a person’s Cycle isn’t like a dimension’s Cycle—the balance required isn’t the same. The orbits are of a different level. But cycles are still susceptible to each other’s influence. We react to time, space, and nature, while they stay invariable. Right? _No_ , it’s wrong. We have the possibility to affect them as well—but not naturally, not at our human capacity. We need a lot of power to touch the cycles of things like that. That’s where we come in, as Cyclists. That’s where the Park regime comes in."

Heatbeat steadying, Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at the man, fearful. "What... What do you mean?"

"You need to listen carefully—Chanyeol, he... He wasn’t exaggerating when he talked about his machines. This is a project he's conducted since his first day inside the Park clan. Their scientist has perfected the technology needed to enhance a Cycle to the level of that capability—to make it possible to touch the universe's orbits. He calls it the _Neo Culture Technology_ ; unchained, unstoppable, limitless. He has hundreds to thousands of Cyclists in this experiment. All of them are synced into the machines and their waves are modulated to their highest level. The stronger the Cyclist, the stronger the level."

He closes and opens his mouth, running his words over. Jongdae looks down at himself, seizing his body with childlike curiosity, like he’s hesitating at his own existence. He appears momentarily lost, defeated by his state of mind.

Kyungsoo poses the question, inciting him on, "And... you?"

"I’m—” he stutters, “—I have the highest recorded Cycle known to existence."

The lightning strikes the sea in the horizon, enveloping Jongdae’s figure against the tide. He hums inaudibly, and Kyungsoo’s Cycle jounces instantly, shocking his soul inside his body. The network sways, blinks out, then rematerializes with a kind of strain in the air, the scenery withering.

Jongdae flutters his eyes open, the pearls' shine bouncing into his irises; he is stunning.

"I’m running out of time. You need to come get me."

"What is going on?" Kyungsoo asks, transfixed. "How are we in the past?"

"Chanyeol wanted to use my concentrated waves to influence the city to be _good_ , as he put it. I’m synced to the prime machine inside the Interior. When you knocked yourself out back there, our cycles met." Jongdae gives a little smile. "You woke me up."

Kyungsoo remembers it — right as _D.O._ 's reflection blurred with his blood, right as the pain turned numb, right as he stopped feeling the rupture in his body, there was the music inside the explosion, the _song_ engulfing him as he gave himself to sleep. He’d never heard anything like it. Jongdae's manifestation was _electric_.

"I've be sleeping for years," he continues. "They locked me up since I was a boy. I've been trapped for so long... They have me hooked up to the prime machine, in the Interior. The scientist—he has the machine inducing me in a special sleep: I can't wake up. Not naturally, nor by their hand. Only a powerful Cycle can wake me up. I need waves strong enough for mine to react to."

He takes a step forward, and his voice quivers with something like excitement. "Your Cycle outburst, coupled with my Cycle, and the NCT machine... we touched the Cycle of time."

The earth shifts under Jongdae's gaze, and Kyungsoo paralyzes, backing away from the man. " _We turned back time?_ How is that possible?"

"Remember what Chanyeol said about wave influence? With the machines, he can make a person do what he wants with a Cycle... We did that to the Cycle of time. Our powerful waves, together, with the elevation of the machine — we grasped the dimension's orbit and pushed it back."

"We..." He closes his eyes and whispers, shaking: "This isn't possible."

" _It is_ ," Jongdae affirms, "and Jongin is alive."

Kyungsoo's heart spikes up in fear, like he’s afraid that it will be a lie, and he stares at Jongdae, overcome. But the other man approaches him and his face is so fair, eyes so clear and breath so real that Kyungsoo _has_ to believe it, has let himself relieve in the revelation, the bliss — _Jongin is alive_ — and the exultation at what they’ve just done; if not anything in the universe, there has to be truth in _this_ , Jongdae's voice, his beauty.

"Your love for him is very deep. I can feel it. I think it's what triggered your Cycle's level," he tells him. "About that... the man who was with you was not Jongin."

"What?" And something in Kyungsoo says he knew, he knew it from the start. His soul couldn’t lie to him.

"Chanyeol had his Cycle manipulated by another Cyclist. Your friend, that wasn't him. When Chanyeol killed that Cyclist, however, Jongin's Cycle was still attached to the other's, and they left the body together. So what you felt was true — he did die."

"But he's _alive_ ," Kyungsoo replies, repeats it into the air so that he can prove it to himself, so that he can hang on to the reality, as _impossible_ as it seemed. A wave of alleviation washes over him as he realizes, at Jongdae's words, the whereabouts of Jongin's heart, his love. It never left, it never ran — Jongin never fled. "He's alive and today is—today is January 13! He's—I have to pick him up at the Interorbital!"

"No," Jongdae responds solemnly, and Kyungsoo freezes, dread filling him instantly. 

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean— _yes_ , he's alive, and we are in the past, but you can't live through the day like it was. Something terrible is going to happen, today."

"What going to happen?" he asks, growing desperate. "What's happening?"

Thunder bursts over the cliff, shaking the earth. Jongdae's hand flies to his chest and he grunts, body folding. Kyungsoo alarms and quickly moves to support him, grabbing his shoulders. "Hey—what's going on?"

"I can't hold this any longer," he gasps, breathing heavily. "You have to listen to me. Chanyeol wants to use my waves to mind-control the city, but there's something even worse. The General—he's going to use my Cycle and the waves to kill the city's population."

" _What?_ " Kyungsoo exclaims. "How? When?"

"You can move cycles, you can rip it from people's bodies, but—" he closes his eyes and heaves, "—that's not it. I'm—I can—I can literally _obliterate_ a human Cycle. With the machine, I can destroy a Cycle completely. When my waves are going to peak, the General is going to unleash my waves onto the city. Everyone who has a weak Cycle is going to die when it hits. Everyone without a proper grasp on their Cycle is going to die—please, Kyungsoo, you need to get me out. You—"

The wind stops and the coast cracks opens with a terrible noise, dropping the trees and the water. The ground quakes and Jongdae loses his footing, collapsing onto Kyungsoo who lays him on the sand, fingers hovering over his pulse. "Hey, wait—OK, OK—where are you? How do I find you?"

"The South District. Underground. They're going to move me there. There's a facility, here—" he pushes his hand against Kyungsoo's temple and sucks in a breath. The next second, he feels something enter his brain, break into his thoughts in one sparking strike. It plants itself in his head, diffusing like an electric charge that carries the picture to Kyungsoo's eyes: a tunnel, a vault, a small circle stamped over rings of light. The vision overwhelms with the information, the vast space that opens inside of him. Kyungsoo staggers back with a sharp scream.

"What—what did you do to me?"

"I set off your ability to sync," Jongdae wheezes. "Oh _God_ , I can't hold it anymore—"

" _Sync?_ What?" Kyungsoo claws at his face, map slowly burning out of his eyes. "What am I looking at?"

"The facility in Seoul-D South—they're going to realize what happened, and they're going to transfer me there so that they can proceed with the wipe. There's no more time, I—" Jongdae cries out, and the network starts to crumble around them. "People are waking up, Kyungsoo. There's no more time."

"Jongdae," he calls out, "Jongdae, wait!"

The pull of the dream subsides rapidly, dragging Kyungsoo out of the slumber. In a strenuous effort, Jongdae's Cycle surrounds them to keep the connection for a last few seconds. He lets his head fall back and gapes wide-eyed at the storm above them.

"I've waited... so long. I've waited so long for someone to come free me. I've tried to contact Cyclists—Minseok, _Minseok_ , he saw me. There's some space where my Cycle can escape inside the machine, so I made him see me—he saw me, he listened to me, he—he wants to help me! _OK?_ Minseok wants to help me but his Cycle isn't strong enough. So he needs you — _I_ need you. Find him, save me." He arches up and breathes out painfully. "I want to see the sun..."

"Jongdae!" The tremors overpower his voice, constricting his throat. Kyungsoo strains to keep his eyes open — the dream escapes him. "Jongdae!"

"He's going to be there, he—" the grounds swirl violently, and Jongdae lets Kyungsoo cage him against the sand, "—Minseok has it—the chamber—he has the key, Minseok is the key—"

"Hey!" Kyungsoo shouts over the crash. "Hey! No!"

Jongdae's green eyes roll back and he forces a smile. " _Morning will come again..._ " he sings, as the explosion rings out.

 

—

 

Kyungsoo's ceiling is green — the yellow smoke of the bolt-bomb clouds the crystal of his window. Outside, the screams have stopped, and he is alone. 

 


	8. For Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im bACK on my bullshit!! This chapter was difficult to write  
> Please note that I've done a cleanup/reedit of previous chapters for this new update. I also felt confident enough to use contractions so the flow should be different from now on!
> 
> Warning for very slight suicidal themes in this chapter, it's not significant but I thought I should mention it
> 
> And thank you again for keeping up with this absurd story. We're getting there.

At the turn of the century, Park Chanyeol recorded a greeting as part of the regime’s annual broadcasts to the country. It was a small speech that Kyungsoo, one year and sixteen days later, finds himself reciting to the emptiness:

“Where does a story start? With a place? With a person? A story starts with time; it starts with intention. It begins when you desire, when you aspire. The story comes true because you will it, and time moves forward because you want it. Tonight’s story comes true because our ambition is greater than history’s, and because we look ahead at the same future. Our story is finally here.”

These minutes that Kyungsoo wastes thinking about Chanyeol’s words is time he knows he’s saving for himself. Time he needs to recover from the dream, Jongdae’s _song_ and the thunder in his eyes — it’s time he needs to feel awake and present, but most of all it’s to understand just what _time_ means anymore. Because time— _time_ has stopped being real for Kyungsoo. What kind of world was he living in anymore, if what Jongdae said is true, if dimensions are tangible and they’ve cycled into time’s? Seoul-D embodied everything that was real to him: guns, lights, routines in its endless hours of work — years and years of hurt and sacrifices, all so he could be able to live, to belong, to call himself a citizen in an unforgiving world. And the orders are clear: open the bulletin, walk outside, and fall into the current like a citizen you’ve always been, inside the regime’s current of fear. It was all he knew from the day he was born.

But now, Kyungsoo doesn’t know anything. There’s no time, there’s no story, no past nor future and certainly no city — he couldn’t believe in anything else but the dream, the Cycle. And so if he stops believing in time, if he can’t trust it, then where is he now?

In this terrible moment of vulnerability, Kyungsoo thinks, _maybe this is what Chanyeol feels like_. Past the end of his rope, in the aftermath, wondering if there’s still some truth in the world, some hope, some _good_. Maybe Chanyeol was broken to his point of madness and sought refuge in the only way he knew how to feel — with his violence. So does Kyungsoo break, like him? Does he break with the illusion? He’s seen the truth — Cyclists, Park Chanyeol, Jongdae’s dream, the secrets of the universe. He’s turned back time; he’s _murdered_ all sense in the notion of existence — he’s more God than God himself has ever proved to be. Kyungsoo’s stopped living in Seoul-D—he’s stopped living in time. So where does he live in now, what does he turn to?

And the answer is in this: Jongdae’s dream, his eyes, his beauty; Junmyeon’s heart, his resolve; Sehun’s promises, their memories; and Jongin— _God, Jongin_ —his breath, his love, and their music. Chanyeol is right; time works because he wills it. The story advances because he feels, because he loves. He doesn’t live in anything but this, and it’s the only thing that will ever be real.

Kyungsoo’s heart is beating, he’s alive, and he’s running out of time.

The instinct to seek out his mentor takes over like it always does — Kyungsoo seizes his phone and presses on Junmyeon’s number. The ringing goes on, each pause longer and more worrying after the other, but when Junmyeon picks up, when his sweet voice finally comes through the line, the world comes to a stop again.

“Hey,” the man rasps, “I—I was just about to call you.”

The phone shakes where Kyungsoo holds it against his ear. Junmyeon’s voice is too good, too pleasant to hear again. The gravity of their situation sinks in, and suddenly Kyungsoo doesn’t have it in his heart to speak.

“Hello? K—Kyungsoo?”

He wonders if Junmyeon is thinking about Jongin’s party, Sehun, and the institution day. Or maybe the man is being haunted by EXO as always, the knife dangling above his head every second of his life. Where had he been when Kyungsoo left them in Chanyeol’s maze? What did Junmyeon see, what did he feel at the moment of his Cycle? Did he hold Sehun in his arms as he screamed, bled out, and died? Did he think to split his head in half in hope to save him?

Kyungsoo breathes out slowly, and finds himself smiling when he answers: “I had a dream about you, hyung.”

Junmyeon goes quiet and Kyungsoo worries that maybe he’s wrong, that maybe all of this is really just some crazy, improbable dream. A nightmare of his own folly. Junmyeon and Sehun will make cake and build Jongin’s toy, they will get instituted together and eat at the sushi lounge until they retire, because that’s the life Kyungsoo wants—that’s the peace they _deserve_ , isn’t it?

But Junmyeon pulls him out of his self-deception, breaks the illusion like he did the night he told him he was EXO: “I had a dream about you too.”

And Kyungsoo bites down on the cry of realization; everything is _real_ — EXO, the Park regime, Jongdae’s nightmare. The world is coming to an end and Kyungsoo is the one left to save it. How does he proceed? What does he tell Junmyeon?

“Kyungsoo?” And he feels like a trainee all over again, lost, afraid, being choked in the stress, the pursuit. He wants Junmyeon’s _song_ , he wants his mentor’s touch of reassurance — he wants to belong.

“ _Hyung_ ,” he croaks out, “I—I want to talk to you about it. Will you come get me, hyung, please?” His vision blurs and for a second Kyungsoo freezes in terror, a chill creeping up his arm, until he feels the tears brimming in his eyes. It’s too much and he can’t take it anymore. “I need you.”

The sob that escapes him is all it takes for Junmyeon to break down with him, the unspoken acknowledgement passing between them. “OK— _OK_ , yes, hyung will come, it’s OK, it’s OK—”

“ _Sehun_ ,” Kyungsoo gasps and urges the man on, “Sehun, you need to go get him. You need to go get Sehun, hyung—OK? Please hurry!”

Junmyeon chokes and he stutters out, “Y—yeah, yeah—” his breath hitches and his voice breaks, “— _oh god_ , what—what’s happening? What’s going on? Kyungsoo?”

“Just hurry, hyung, please!” Kyungsoo cries. “We don’t have time anymore.” And when he realizes just what he means, that they didn’t have _reality_ anymore, the horror finally settles into him and he feels the sickness rise. He pulls himself up as he hears Junmyeon run out of his house with his phone, and the line submerges with the sound of the city’s air outside.

“Kyungsoo? I’m—I gotta get in the motor, I’ll be there as fast as I can, Kyungsoo, I…”

Junmyeon trails off, the apprehension in his silence holding back what he wants to say. Kyungsoo stumbles into his bathroom and blurts out the second he sees his reflection in the mirror: “I know you’re EXO, hyung.”

He holds his breath in the heavy pause that Junmyeon gives, before the man abruptly ends the call. Kyungsoo drops his phone in the sink and he lets himself fall onto the counter, crying out. _Why was this happening? Why did it have to be them?_  

He raises his head with a gasp and stares hard at D.O. in the glass, looking back at his unkempt hair and red eyes. His hand goes to his reflection, covering the skin above his eyes where the ghost of the injury remains, the child’s frightened expression and the flash of blood on the white floor. For a moment they watch each other and Kyungsoo thinks: _I’ve died_. This part of his body and soul he’s left on the other side of the reflection, where time still works the way Seoul-D still owns it, owns _him_ , name and blood. And Kyungsoo knows from this point on, while he’ll never find himself there again, history will always be one face away from him, will follow him from all sides until he dies.

Suddenly, Jongdae’s map flashes past his eyes and he slips, feeling himself be plunged inside the underground grid of a hangar compound. He strains to keep the sight as much as he wants it to end, the splitting pain that makes his head throb like it’s going to collapse. Just as Kyungsoo thinks he’s about to vomit, his phone rings again, Sehun’s picture lighting up the screen. He has seconds to calm down before the younger’s voice cuts through the line:

“Hyung—” Sehun isn’t crying, but Kyungsoo recognizes in the tremble that he’s shut down in shock, the kind of stillness in which he brutally dissociates himself from the situation. He’s only ever seen Sehun like this once, on the day where the knife was over his eyes before Kyungsoo put himself between.

“Sehun? It’s me, Sehun—Junmyeon’s going to come get you, OK? Everything’s going to be OK, just stay where you are.”

“He’s—” he misses a part of his sentence when his phone vibrates intently, “—right? He’s OK, right? Hyung’s alive?”

“What?” Kyungsoo says, shaking. “He—yeah, he’s here, hyung’s here. Hyung—Junmyeon’s going to come get you, just don’t move, OK?”

Sehun’s voice turns into a whisper. “I… Yixing…”

“It’s OK—Sehun, it’s over now. I’m—I’ll explain everything, just hang on, OK?”

“Where am I? Where are you?”

The ring for an incoming call startles Kyungsoo out of his panic, and glancing down at his phone he sees Jongin’s number displayed over Sehun’s. His heart soars up in both dread and absolute bliss, _Jongin is alive_ , and nothing of the situation matters anymore. He lives in Jongin and their company, he lives in the youth they swore to each other forever. And they’re here, once more, the three of them in the heart of the war.

“Sehun,” Kyungsoo swallows. “I—I’m going to add Jongin to the call, OK? Sehun, are you there?”

“Y—yeah, wait, Jongin? He’s—”

Kyungsoo leaves the room and bolts down the stairs. He presses on the phone’s icon and Jongin’s loud sobs immediately flood the line. “ _—hello?_ Hyung?”

And Kyungsoo cries in relief, cries at the sound of Jongin’s beautiful voice, the only one he knows that truly belongs to him — honey and diamonds, melted into his soul. “Jongin—”

“ _Hyung_ , I—I had a terrible nightmare, I’m—”  

“Jongin, Jongin—listen to me, don’t take your flight, OK? You have to stay in Seoul-D South.”

“Wh—what? Why?”

In the lounge, Kyungsoo initiates the lockdown on his apartment. “Just trust me, OK? I’m going to explain everything and we’re going to come to you, just—stay on the phone with me and don’t move, OK? Jongin? Whatever you do, don’t leave your house.”

“Jongin, are you OK?” Sehun asks.

“ _Sehun?_ ” he whimpers. “Sehun, is that you? Wh—where… Oh my god, what’s going on? Hyung?”

“This—this isn’t a dream, Jongin, OK?” Kyungsoo quickly says, gathering his bag and jacket, and peeks out his window. “Sehun?”

“Y—yes?”

“I need you to do something for me, OK?” He glances at the meter — 9:20. “When Junmyeon gets here, don’t panic, just get in the motor with him and he’ll drive you to my complex, OK? Just follow hyung and don’t waste any time.”

Sehun gulps and Kyungsoo hears shuffling over Jongin’s cries. “OK, OK… I… I—Is it real, hyung? Is this—is this real?”

“Everything’s real,” he replies, for them and himself. His head is spinning and his heart pounds in his chest. “I—I promise I’ll explain everything when Junmyeon gets here, OK? Jongin, will you stay with us on the phone? Will you stay with hyung?”

“I—” he coughs and heaves, crying so hard and fast his body can’t keep up, “—oh god, I’m so scared, hyung…”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, Jongin—I’m here, I’m here…”

Jongin dreamed he died in the plaza in the middle of the explosion. He dreamed that his ghost followed his body with Kyungsoo inside the precinct, that he walked in and out of someone else, and at some point he had even been inside Park Chanyeol’s head. He tells him how afraid and powerless he felt, how he couldn’t do anything to warn him, how he saw himself kill a man, how he broke Kyungsoo’s heart. “It wasn’t me, hyung, _it wasn’t me_ —I’m so sorry,” he cries. And Jongin died the second time thinking he would never know.

Sehun dreamed that Junmyeon and a doctor named Yixing opened a door inside a maze, and there was a crying man standing in front of them with a bomb strapped to his body. “He looked so broken,” he tells him, as it’s the last thing he sees before he wakes up alone in a meadow.

They beg Kyungsoo for answers, suffocated in their anguish, the terrifying visions, but Kyungsoo needs Junmyeon to be here first, needs everyone to listen to him together because he doesn’t know how many times he could recount Jongdae’s nightmare. Would they even believe him? What were they going to do?

“Kyungsoo?” Sehun calls out suddenly with worry, “I—there’s an attack hybrid in front of my house…”

Junmyeon owned a silver motor that was classed within the accuracy models; attack motors were reserved to the guard forces. “Wh—that’s not… can you see Junmyeon? What colour is it?”

“I—It’s black, but… Oh, there’s hyung! I see him!”

“Put me on speaker, OK?”

There’s some rustling as Sehun meets with Junmyeon, and after a few seconds he hears the noise of the motor revving up. Kyungsoo swipes the lock to his door and runs to the elevator, counting with Jongin’s harsh breaths the numbers descending on the panel. “It's OK, Jongin—it's over...”

When he exits onto the tournebride, Seoul-D’s current seems to have stopped. A few of the complex’s residents are jogging around the area, looking anxious and perturbed. The traffic in front of the park has emptied and many of the pillar-lights stand inactive. “ _People are waking up,_ ” Jongdae’s words echo. The city is falling apart.

Kyungsoo breathes in the air and finds himself feeling no longer surrounded. All his life he had been trapped inside the current, but now he makes face at the city’s buildings, the towering lights, and the people who fill the high grounds, its servants. Kyungsoo looks, walks, and the current gives way. He wasn’t living in Seoul-D anymore, he was living in Chanyeol’s invention, a world inside their Cycle, out of the reality — a world without time to distinguish the moments, only actions and sentiment, bonds for measured time and the print of feelings for recognition. A world where he only hears his heartbeat and Jongin’s voice in his ear.

It’s done, and Kyungsoo has won something over the city, after all his life. He’s free.

 

—

 

In the years before Kyungsoo met Junmyeon, he and Sehun would make monthly visits to their old sector, to pay their respects first, mothers and fathers and children alike in the earth, and second to remember. The sector had been damaged to the point where the grounds were no longer suitable for housing or commercial structures; Seoul-D had left its scar on that zone of the district. A garden park was erected in its place, green and white carved in stone, a decor sown to sprout over the last prints of the carnage, to bury the horror with flowers and fountains. There wasn’t anything to remember of the long, ruinous past; the tranquil scenery made it seem like there was nothing to forget in the first place. It was a lonely park for absent time, and no one took notice of the two men sitting quietly by the fountain, the basket of lilies and hydrangeas resting at their feet.

Sehun found conversation in the grief whereas Kyungsoo reserved himself to the silence. He let the younger fill the space, recounting the trips and incidents, pointing, touching, turning the pages on their stories, and Kyungsoo listened for the tremble in his soft voice, let the boy mourn. It was their only consolation, their own painful solace outside of each other’s arms — the last piece of their trauma, a city’s paid gift. And as always, Kyungsoo and Sehun took everything it would give them, if only for one more day at life.

Kyungsoo knew how much the park meant to Sehun; more than a memorial, it was a solace for their spirits. On the days when the pressure became too much, when Sehun fell out of the current, he would text Kyungsoo and they would return to the sector, find themselves in the pink shrubbery, the younger staring at his reflection in the pond. Sehun needed to face the ruin like Kyungsoo needed to run away from it. It was a part of themselves they wouldn’t ever be able to get back, and to replace it was even harder. So what remained, the scar, the injury — they tortured themselves because it was the only thing that belonged to them, the only thing people like them could ever own in a city like this. Their pain, their reckoning. To endure their life, to endure the relentless pursuit of life as well, they had to remember where they came from, and what hurt them to _become_.

The year before Kyungsoo entered the market, the garden was bombed in part of a demonstration on a trade bank nearby. The bulletin’s report showed the fountain smashed over the ashes, and in the center of the fractured ground burned the mark of a hexagon.

It’s in between the strangled words of his hastily-delivered account, of the broken description of Jongdae’s dream that Kyungsoo wonders if Sehun ever forgave Junmyeon for taking the last of what remained essentially _theirs_ , and if he ever thought twice to love a man as _exposed_ as the secret leader of EXO. The Park regime may have killed Sehun, but EXO did as well. Now, the younger gazes at the emptiness in the front of the motor, listless where he lays his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, listening, crying, _grieving_ whatever number of deaths he was on, whatever still left that counted in his eyes.

To Kyungsoo’s concern, Junmyeon stays relatively calm. His façade is still raised by habit, but the way he glares forward at the route unmoving, the way he grips rigid the gears and drives the vehicle charging into the city, relentless, cutting past lights and armed guards breaking way in panic from the attack motor— _unsparing_ , has Kyungsoo worried. All of the pain is seeping through the cracks and he fears, for the first time, what will happen when it floods through.

“We’ve heard of it, before,” he mutters, “a while ago, when our collaborators were looking at the planet’s orbit with the sun and moon. There’s something to do with cycles and the universe’s phenomena. Time and space. I’d never thought, though, that you could actually do it…”

“It’s the machines,” Kyungsoo repeats, “Jongdae says they’re called the New… The Neo Culture Technology. It enhances the Cyclists’ level to the max.”

“It’s also dangerous because they’re levels that, as Cyclists, you’re not supposed to reach,” Junmyeon says. “There’s no telling what it can result in.”

“Is the General really going to kill us?” Jongin asks from the recorder on the panel where Kyungsoo’s phone is connected. The brunet remained the most shaken from the story, and Kyungsoo couldn’t imagine just how frightened and lost Jongin was, alone to wake up from the nightmare. He desperately wished he were with him, to see and touch Jongin again, to know that no matter time or story Jongin’s _look_ was real. He had Sehun’s breath and Junmyeon’s voice, his mentor’s unfaltering care, and slowly their altered reality pieced itself together with the sounds and sights of their company, in the skeleton of the city. “How much time do we have left?”

“I—I don’t know…” Kyungsoo breathes out. He closes and opens his eyes to find himself navigating inside the walls of the South facility, the frustration of familiarity at the unidentified location. The longer he looked at Jongdae’s map, the less time he felt they had, and it was distressing to think that the waves could be unleashed at any given moment. How were they going to get to the South District?

Kyungsoo’s thoughts are running in his mind when Sehun shifts beside him, and he caresses his hand. “Are you OK?”

The younger looks around at the agitated routes, eyes tired and dull. He raises his head when they climb the archpath to exit, the stripes of darkness sweeping over them, and stares at Junmyeon in the mirror. “Where are we going?”

Junmyeon glimpses at him furtively in the reflection. “We’ve sent out the alert to abandon the base. I’m taking you to Yixing’s house. He lives over the coast.”

“Do they know about it?”

“I cut off every channel to be safe. Kyungsoo, you need to help me explain when we get there.”

“And then? What are we going to do?”

The silence hangs heavy in the compartment. Junmyeon takes a deep breath and runs the motor up a grounded circuit when the new sector opens on the oceanside. Kyungsoo watches Sehun’s piercing gaze on Junmyeon, feels his current rising with the tension between them. Sehun turns to the window to look above at the overcast sky, and his expression is hesitant before it turns serious. He then peers back down at the city below them, houses and roads pushed together in the earth, the bodies in a heap. He’s been there like countless others, buried in the horror, been made a mound in the blood and dirt — Sehun’s as broken as any of them, and he may be as damaged as Chanyeol, but in his nature Kyungsoo knows that the man’s heart is still _good_. He still believes in the better of things, in love, in forgiveness — he still has his faith, still dreams when he’s not awake. It’s what keeps him going against the current.

When Sehun blinks back up, he eyes himself in the reflection of the crystal, and Kyungsoo sees in his face the severity of what he’s thinking, what he’s determined:

“We need to save the city.”

Junmyeon doesn’t tear away from the wheel, but he stiffens enough to startle Kyungsoo when he turns back toward them.

“We have to save the city. Not Seoul-D, just the people,” the blond declares resolutely. “If the General really is going to kill us, we need to get everyone out.”

“How are we going to evacuate the entire country? In the time we have?” Jongin calls from the recorder. “How—I mean, if everyone felt time turn back, they would've put out an emergency siren. What about the other districts?”

”It’s true that they haven’t sent out the siren call,” Junmyeon notes, voice stern and stressed. “I don’t think they have the intention to do it either.”

He looks grimly at the crossing where he pulls onto the soil road. Kyungsoo explores the new grassy trail which they’ve entered, into a fresh field separated by the thick enclosure of trees and briers. Hills quickly grow over the cloudy background, isolating the sector in a kind of pastoral fantasy; a stockade encompasses an estate cottage, built in white bricks and raised over a paddock cut in the middle of the woodlands further down the hill. The light scenery has Kyungsoo’s chest bloom with a charmed sentiment, the tranquil murmur of nature flowing through him, making him breathe easy.

“Is this a farm?”

“Yixing bought this place himself. They don’t allow animals, though,” Junmyeon answers, climbing up the field toward the cottage. He removes Kyungsoo’s phone from the panel. “Jongin?”

“Y—yes?”

“Are you still in the boarding house?” Junmyeon turns to pass him over to Kyungsoo and tries to catch Sehun’s eye as he stations the motor. The younger looks at him warily.

“Yeah, I’m still here, but… Wh—are you guys going to come get me? Am I—what’s going to happen? Are we going to go get that Jongdae Cyclist? He’s in my district, isn’t he?”

“We need to know what we’re going to do with the population first,” Junmyeon says, signaling them to exit. Kyungsoo takes Sehun by the hand and he stops when they step over the grass.

The crisp scent of spring fills the air with the low stirring of the leaves, the rustling of herbs, green and yellow and warm in the earth — a sharp contrast to the market sectors with its harsh lights, where the droning and the buzz of the mass blends in the cacophony, grey and white and cold like steel. Sehun’s eyes travel to the patches of flowers and vegetables in the small garden cut in the front of a dug-out pond, circled by round stones and sprouts. He breathes in the calm and Kyungsoo thinks he’s fond of the setting, until he sees his hands slowly tighten into a fist and his expression crumble into something close to _resentment_. Sehun turns to watch Junmyeon approach the entrance, and at once Kyungsoo grabs the blond by the arm, shaking his head when he looks down at him, so exhausted, so _miserable_.

Junmyeon stops in front of the doorway to type something on his phone. He looks over to Kyungsoo when they come to stand behind him, Sehun poorly concealing his scowl.

“Kyungsoo, y—you said it was a hangar, right?”

He nods, and Junmyeon’s gaze falls down. When his hand reaches for the handle, the sound of the lock turning on the other side makes him pull back, and the next second Baekhyun emerges from the door, swiftly raising a bolt-gun between his eyes. Sehun backs away with a jolt and Kyungsoo quickly hides behind Junmyeon, Junmyeon who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t budge, staring solemnly past the barrel and down at the silver-haired man who holds with a tremble both his weapon and his glare.

“It’s me, angel,” Junmyeon whispers. “It’s just me.”

Baekhyun stays quiet, then casts his steel eyes over the man’s shoulder where he locks onto Kyungsoo. The image of those dusty eyes, full of fear, quivering and rolling back at the blood in Baekhyun’s small mouth, fills Kyungsoo with so much guilt and sorrow that he can’t bring himself to look at him — he couldn’t begin to think of what the commander suffered.

“Hello? Hyung?” Jongin’s voice comes through. Baekhyun glimpses down at the phone, then looks back at Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. He lowers his gun and in the conceding gesture Kyungsoo hears the broken lament: _you left me to die, you left me to die alone_.

“Baekhyun,” Junmyeon calls, taking a step toward him and bringing a hand to his cheek, “it’s over, now. It’s OK. Look at me?”

Kyungsoo observes with some reservation the silent conversation between the two, trying to chase away the memory of Baekhyun’s screams, his writhing body, the wound in his chest. When Junmyeon pulls him close, Sehun grabs Kyungsoo’s hand and looks down.

“I’m going to tell you what happened, OK? Where’s Yixing?”

Without a word, Baekhyun turns and leads Junmyeon inside the house. Kyungsoo moves to follow them, but stops when he sees Sehun still rooted on the trail, head hung low in melancholy and looking longingly over at the flower patches, the little plants arranged in a kind pattern over the water, soft colours and sweet perfumes mixing the gentleness that his heart remembers in the garden park. Kyungsoo approaches to comfort him, and Sehun's lips curve in the slightest, pulled by the sentiment. 

" _I'll make you happy_ ," he sings faintly, and with a last sigh, he squeezes Kyungsoo's hand and crosses the threshold. 

 

—

 

Yixing's house is built in the shapes and colours of _familiarity_ , neutral schemes and clean-cut furniture occupying the disposed space, and resembles more a nursing home than a personal residence. Most of the rooms, lined with beds and dressers, hold storage for equipment and instruments the doctor uses for his practice, but the wooden designs with the abundance of trinkets and burgeoning plants that fill the shelves give the impression of homelike rest, a cosy refuge in a picturesque piece of land. It's a house in a setting that Kyungsoo finds himself envying easily, dreaming of a simple and still life like this, in the countryside, cut off from the chaos that ruled the outside world.

The tension in his body dissipates as he settles in the room, but the other members are precipitated into his report. Tao was on edge, and had been distrustful of Jongdae's revelation, and Yixing was so pale from the experience he looked like he wanted to scream at Junmyeon.

“Are you _absolutely_ _sure?_ ”

The hangar of Jongdae’s map that Tao locates on his computer is based in a protected zone of Seoul-D South, and is only accessible by a restricted bridge from a private military waterfront. “At the end of the storage room, there’s an elevator,” Kyungsoo recites like a command, eyes running over the grid planted in his head. “It takes you to the facility underground. Jongdae’s in a vault in the middle, he showed me where.”

Junmyeon sits in silence next to Tao, studying the map intently. Kyungsoo finally witnesses the leader of EXO in his motion, his unwavering focus that directs everyone else’s, but he sees also in Junmyeon’s eyes his regret, the failure of the _breach_ and the unpredictability of the new project. They had no time to recover; the wipe could go off at any second.

“They aren’t sending out the emergency siren because what Kyungsoo says is likely true: the General is going to unleash the Cyclist’s waves and kill the lowered-leveled population. Kyungsoo knows where the facility is and where the weapon Cyclist is, but we still don’t know what we’re up against. I’m not eliminating the possibility of this being a trap, either.” He presses on his watch and stands up, ordering their attention. “Whatever happens today, we need to evacuate the city. Our formations and collaborators will help to round up as many people as possible, but the only way we get everyone to mobilize is to send out the emergency nation-wide siren, that’s located in the Interior. Tao, Yixing and I will go back to the Interior and stop the access there — we’re going to freeze every working transit in the city, send out the siren, and save the Cyclists.”

Baekhyun interrupts them as he walks back in the lounge, throwing a tracker their way. “I called RM. He’s going to send the army shuttles near the coast sides in three hours. We have to move everyone there.”

“Where are we going to go?” Kyungsoo asks, soothing his hand over Sehun’s next to him. The younger has been steadily avoiding Junmyeon’s gaze since they settled inside the house, and instead kept Jongin close on the phone.

“No goddamn idea,” the commander responds, narrowing his eyes at the monitor. “Maybe we’ll go to the west. But I’m not counting on the rest of the city. EXO, Bulletproof—no one’s going to listen to outlaws. That siren’s our best chance at the evacuation.”

“This is fucking insane,” Tao mutters, shaking his head. “First, he turns back time. Now the General’s gonna wipe out the entire city. I can’t believe this. We need to move, now.”

“What about the facility?” Jongin calls from the line. “He’s here, isn’t he? The Cyclist? You’re going to go save him?”

“Baekhyun will take Kyungsoo to the hangar,” Junmyeon announces, closing his tracker and moving toward Kyungsoo and Sehun. “We’re going to get you to the South and you’re going to get the Cyclist out.”

“Wh— _how?_ ” he glances around, watching as the members slowly disperse out of the house. “Wait, what about Jongin?”

“How are you going to get to the South District in this time?” Sehun asks him.

“From what we saw on the map, I own an estate that’s close to the zone. Baekhyun will fly you there and you'll drive to the hangar.”

“ _Fly?_ ” Kyungsoo exclaims. “You have a plane?”

Junmyeon’s reply comes with a nervous tone in his voice. “It’s a flight motor.”

“Aren’t those illegal?” Sehun says.

“They’re just off the market. It’s a developing business,” Junmyeon answers weakly. “We need to go now.”

“And _Jongin?_ " Kyungsoo pulls him back, eyes pleading. "He—he’s going with me.”

“Kyungsoo, it’s safer that he stay in the boarding house—"

“No, wait!” Jongin shouts from the line. “No—Hyung! I want to go with you!”

“Please, let me see him,” Kyungsoo begs his mentor. “We’ll evacuate together after we get Jongdae, please! I'm— _Myeonnie_ , I just killed people and turned back time— _please_.”

And Junmyeon sighs like it hurts him, looking despondently at Sehun next to them, Sehun who refuses to meet his eyes, who shuts himself out with his heart. Junmyeon’s patience has run out, and he relents where he sees Kyungsoo’s chance to still love, where he thinks he owes him for EXO’s damage.

“OK,” he whispers. “ _OK_. OK—Send him these coordinates. Just—make sure you stay together. Please.”

Kyungsoo shuts his eyes and stutters out a breath. He brings the phone to his ear and comforts himself in the sound of Jongin's voice, his presence — Junmyeon will make them meet again, like he already has. "Jongin, I have to go, OK? Can you drive to the location?"

"Y—yeah, I'll be there in half an hour."

"Stay by the fountain gate," Junmyeon instructs, and then turns to Sehun: "I want you to come with us. I'm going to drive Baekhyun and Kyungsoo to the station where they'll take off, and then we're going to go back to the Interior. Are you OK with that?"

And while Sehun gives him his affirmation, Kyungsoo knows Junmyeon isn't asking the question to anyone but himself; there was something in the relationship that his mentor ultimately consented to give up, that he'd shamefully rather this — the fight, the pursuit, than the love he's sacrificed to keep what he could of _Sehun_ to him. Junmyeon accepts the younger's response like a punishment of his own doing, his own _mistake_. "Right," he concedes. "OK, OK."

Sehun says nothing, and Kyungsoo ends the call. "I'll wait for you, hyung."

Junmyeon guides them out of the house and back to the trail, where he runs over to Baekhyun seated inside the motor, working the monitors and exchanging a last word with Yixing who fixes the mic on him. A breeze courses through the field and the shift in the clouds catches Kyungsoo's eye when the rain starts to drip over the hills. He counts with the sound of the storm the seconds until he can see Jongin again, until he can hold the man in his arms once more. Kyungsoo looks at Sehun whose eyes stray back to the greenery, and takes his hands in his. 

"I'll come back to you," he says like a prayer. The rush of emotion is unexpected and uncontainable: "I'll come back with Jongin and we'll get out of here, like we always dreamed of. You want to save this city—we'll save them. And then we'll be together again, we'll be free, OK? Just like old times—you, Jongin, and me. I'll come back to you." And Kyungsoo thinks that through all history’s evil, it was a _miracle_ that they met, the three of them together, and survived. That somehow the atonement has come at last.

And Sehun, forever committed to their youth, smiles tiredly, pulling Kyungsoo in his arms. "Hyung always comes back for me."

"I do," he promises, stroking his hair. "I will."

"I love you," he mutters in his collar. "Please get Jongin for me."

Kyungsoo kisses his head. "Take care of Junmyeon. I love you."

They break apart and Yixing walks over to Sehun's side, putting a hand on his shoulder, nodding kindly at Kyungsoo. The blond's fingers hook around his and slip out slowly, _heavily_ as Kyungsoo retreats to the motor, feeling the ghost of the touch and keeping Sehun's image in his eyes, because he knows whenever and wherever they will be, in the reality or the illusion, he’ll always have this to ground him to the earth, the shared scar to remind him of who he is — Sehun’s smile, his child to tell him he belongs.

Baekhyun gives him his mic as he seats himself, activating and connecting their channels. Junmyeon steadily drives them out of the field and Kyungsoo glimpses back at Sehun in the motor with Tao and Yixing, taking in the last trace of the calm as they disappear behind the hills.

 

—

 

Junmyeon's private station is a disclaimed airfield left unregistered on the sector next to the Night Fair. The port for the flight motors is an immense tower concealed inside a dome that encloses the area, and the platform is higher than Junmyeon's office at the market. Baekhyun verifies the plans with him as they climb up inside the elevator, leaving Kyungsoo to stare through the droplets on the crystal, through the fog over the city left in their hands.

The harsh noise of the rainfall fills Kyungsoo ears when the doors slide open, and Baekhyun hurries to the large vaults locked at the end of the bay. Junmyeon, who has remained composed until they reached the airfield, seems to falter as he steps onto the platform, his expression and figure changing together in painful sadness, recoiling like he's on the grounds of a bad memory. His fingers tremble, not from the cold, when he raises them to the identification sensor on the door. The slow and absent manner in which he inputs the code after the scan is so upsetting to watch, and Junmyeon suddenly buries his face in his hands as the vault opens with a chime. Baekhyun immediately runs to the transport inside, and Kyungsoo drags Junmyeon back, Junmyeon who breathes heavily and ignores his searching eyes, fixing his own on the skyline in the horizon.

They stand in quiet as Baekhyun prepares the motor. The rain falls on Junmyeon like an embrace, the water kissing his eyelashes, trailing his nose to his lips, where he tastes the city's lament on his tongue. He's beautiful in a broken, drained spirit, and Kyungsoo stares in dismay, deciding to unravel the man as he asks:

"Why are you the leader of EXO?"

Junmyeon doesn't move, but Kyungsoo senses his Cycle in his body, stirring up with the emotion in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and his gaze softens where he stares off in the distance.

"The world... is a _very_ cruel place, Kyungsoo," Junmyeon whispers calmly. "This city — it hurt me. It hurt so many people. Regime after regime, it's always the same thing—war. History repeats itself. It—it's like a Cycle — forever looping. This world will keep fighting, and for what? A house? A friend? We're willing to sacrifice ourselves for things, for causes, but it never ends. Our ancestors cycled; I don’t want to cycle. I don’t want people in the future to cycle, either. I'm tired of fighting, I don't want fight anymore; so I fight."

He closes his mouth and lowers his eyes. Kyungsoo feels like he's asking the wrong question for the answer he searches for. He looks over the horizon and back at the man. “Why do you like high places, Junmyeon?”

The shift in his expression isn't quite perceivable. It rains heavily, and for a moment, at the sight of his mentor's figure blending in the thick grey haze Kyungsoo dares to think _it is death_ , and that Junmyeon wants to kill himself. He stays silent for a long time, eyes scouring over the city sky, and Kyungsoo's heart breaks watching Junmyeon dream, listening to him mourn — wishful, merciless, _suicide_.

“My childhood love was a pilot,” he says, steel eyes dropping slowly to the ground down below. “He’s not here anymore.”

A thunderbolt cuts through the shrouded cityscape, and for a second Kyungsoo sees Jongdae in the bursts of lightning, striking Seoul-D with all the fury and despair in his _song_. When he looks back at Junmyeon, he beholds the same broken emotion in his eyes, anger and desperation, and _grief_ in the middle of it all. Junmyeon cries differently now, like a release, pouring out in a way that's controlled and measured; he cries over a wound that's been opened too many times.

"I love you Kyungsoo, and I love Sehun," he pronounces. "If anything happened to you, I—I'd never forgive myself."

"We'll make it out, hyung," Kyungsoo assures, pulling him close. "We're going to get through this. And we'll be together when it's over."

Junmyeon sighs into the touch and his sorrow exhausts. Tears spent, he leans back to stroke his hair. "I'll... I'll tell you the story of EXO when you come back." He smiles fondly. "And you can tell me yours."

He closes his eyes and Kyungsoo hugs the man he always looked up to, the man he knew he would never betray. He would save them, like he promised, and they would finally live in the peace they deserved.

When Kyungsoo raises his head, he locks eyes with Baekhyun on the other side, the commander who stares at him icily. 

"It's time to go," Junmyeon says, moving them to the motor. "Be safe."

Once he's seated in the compartment, Kyungsoo keeps his eyes on Junmyeon on the platform. Baekhyun shuts the panes and gives one last salute to the man, before the motor lifts off the ground with a terrible whirring sound. " _I love you_ ," Junmyeon mouths. Kyungsoo watches, disheartened, the haze envelop his mentor, disappearing into the storm.

 

—

 

In the eye of the storm, Kyungsoo thinks, _I've been here before_. Not floating down the sky, not surging through the thunder, but running away—chasing after Jongin out of time. Maybe in a dream, a misplaced memory of his Cycle's outburst, but he feels strangely familiar with the urgency, the sense that time is the enemy. Maybe the years of his torment in the city have finally burned through his skin, and in meeting Jongin for the second—the _third_ time, he would be reborn. And this time, nothing would have control over them, nothing will take Jongin from him again. He'd turn back time forever if it meant they could meet until the very end, because they really were this—two men fleeing history. Jongin was the piece of his soul that would make them live outside the reality, he was the one who could make the earth move beneath them as they ran out of it. Kyungsoo knew, he always knew. 

As Baekhyun makes his descent onto the landing strip, Kyungsoo's Cycle rises up. His _song_ escapes him before the motor can touch the ground, and it searches through the haze the melody to answer his, Jongin's music that revives Kyungsoo's beating heart.

" _Even if I'm born again, I can't be with anyone but you_ ," he sings, like under a spell. Baekhyun tunes him out, stationing the motor and looking at the roads around Junmyeon's property. While the silver-haired man rushes out on the intention of his retribution, Baekhyun's own crafted violence he aims back at the regime, Kyungsoo stands alone in his devotion, the music of his love, pulled by the string of sentiment that disappears inside the fog. "Jongin?" he shouts, circling the terrain. 

He hears it, the resounding melody, the notes from Jongin's soul that echo inside him. With every step, the connection increases, and Kyungsoo feels something work inside him, sparking the map in his head, raising the space Jongdae opened, that fills with the call:

 _A bright moonlit night_  
_The stars give off their fireworks_  
_Fly higher with me_  
_My heart will take this love_  
_We're the only ones floating up_  
_Leaving the earth below our feet  
L_ _ove me right_

"Jongin!" he screams when the wind pushes his figure out near the fountain, and his heart soars as he runs.

"Kyungsoo!" Jongin is there, lilac-haired and stormy-eyed and _real_. The moment where they meet, where Jongin collapses onto him and Kyungsoo holds them up, crushing their bodies like they are one, is frozen inside a tremor; Jongin shakes in his arms, gasping and grabbing onto Kyungsoo to pull them impossibly closer, and he breaks down with a cry so hoarse, so torn out of his soul that Kyungsoo forgets about time, forgets about the reality because they are together, and nothing matters but Jongin's breath, his touch, his voice. The world is only alive with Jongin's _song_ , the music in his heart, and Kyungsoo sobs because this is real, _this is real because you're beautiful, and I can see you—I can touch you._

 _" _Hyung_ , hyung—" _Jongin chokes out, pulling back to press their heads together. _" _Can I_ —can I kiss you—" _ but they're already falling, falling into piece like gravity— _at last_ — Jongin's kiss is a _riptide_ and Kyungsoo thinks _this is the end for him, he will never find a love like this again_. He brings his hands to Jongin's wet face, holds on to the soft lips moving against his, feels the splendid vibrations under his skin, melting their bodies into harmony.

The waves rising inside his head can't be helped for the emotion fighting in his heart, and Kyungsoo endures the odd surging pain, lost in the high of the storm because he needs to remember Jongin, the memory he'll live in forever—the water running between their mouths, Jongin's fingers burning against his temples, the glint restored in his blue eyes, his warm breath and the smile that cuts through the haze. This love is real, and he lives in it, until the day he dies.

 _I don't remember how long it's been_  
_Since the moment I met you_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))


	9. Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again I am so terribly sorry for the late update! I've had a hard period of adjustment but I finally complete this chapter. I will try my best to update regularly! Thank you so much again for reading with me!

Jongin’s first memory is the sector beacon shrouded in the midnight mist. The light spins, white and thinned by the haze, and he thinks it’s the moon in the sky turning its eye on him. He follows with his family the dark path in the cold, treading to the new sector, where his life begins as much as it ends. The light cast onto the ground is a dangerous blade that stirs the earth, and so Jongin plays with it, chasing the shadows. The boy’s body appears in pieces in the light that comes to capture him, arms and legs cut in the clear, an amalgam of limbs thrown out, blinking in and out with the sweeping white. He vanishes from the city’s face; Jongin learns to run.

The first gun he sees must be bigger than him — Jongin stares up at the barrel that takes the size of half of his head. The hole is black, and soon, so becomes everything else.

He is seven when he remembers his toy. Its name is Kai and the robot is his birth gift, his companion he’s carried with him since the beginning. Kai takes care of Jongin and gives him the courage to play with the other children in the sector. His best friend is a younger boy with black hair, brown eyes, and the happiest of smiles. One day, Jongin sees himself in the metal of the robot, and finds his own hair softening in the sunlight, turning a dark shade of pink. The reflection twinkles — Kai bends himself into the shape of his childhood. The knobs and wires that jam and loosen and twisted and bolted back in place, worked awkwardly but with an attentive trace, the stamp of a child’s touch. When Kai breaks, Jongin fixes him.

The robot is dropped somewhere in a hole a day he runs inside the yard, screaming for an older boy who lies in the middle of the broken glass, arm wedged between two pieces from the wrecked walls. Kai is forgotten until Jongin leaves the sector, when his empty hand fetches for the space next to him.

Jongin can’t sleep. Sehun isn’t at his side, and Kyungsoo’s voice is a faint echo in his memory. Each night is longer than the other, he’s _alone_ , and unlike hunger and fatigue, loneliness is an ache his child can’t bear. His body has its own ways of communicating the pain, Jongin doesn’t want to die but he longs for what it can give him — rest. He wants to sleep.

The new house is something of a dream. There are cheques in the boxes and food on the table. Jongin claims the entire space running inside his new life, but soon he tires out, finds himself bored with the scenario and stressed within the stranger structure. There’s something wrong inside of him, like grief he can’t contain.

School days are missed running around the sector, parks and buildings through, Jongin is pulled by the need to move like his heart will stop if he doesn’t take another step. He doesn’t explore but roams with an urgency that clouds his thoughts, _run or this city will get you_. Places and people pass him, inside and out. He devours the space around him because Seoul-D didn’t give him the time to mourn instead.

One night a night enough, the storm is calling and he's sprinting out on the hillside behind the sector’s gate. He soaks in the downpour, breathless and shivering from the rain that falls like shards, in pursuit of the cry at the end of the sky because he hears in it the answer, the promise, at last he will be free from this— _it’ll be all right_. He’s staring up at the black mass of the galaxy as his legs give out and he collapses in the middle of the open field, far from the sirens of Seoul-D—the closest to liberation he’ll ever be. He wishes that the touch of death be warm, to thaw out his frozen heart, to burn the hurt out of him, _finally_.

But through the shatter of the rainfall and the cold that numbs him to the bone, he hears it, the melody, the familiar _song_ that pulls him from the ground—and he remembers. Jongin wakes hours later to the midnight shower, and though he can’t feel anything, he hears his heartbeat, sees past the fog of the storm, and he counts the steps back to his house with the notes of Kyungsoo’s song, _hyung_ whose lullaby he remembers in the hidden of his soul that implores: _stop running, and listen_.

Jongin stumbles into his room with the rise of the fever, looking wearily at _Star_ on his bulletin left turned on.

He meets Taemin in a recuperation course at the facility when the young officer comes to attend a class. Taemin is his age, and while he’s already accomplished more than Jongin has in a lifetime, he’s injured his soul plenty enough for the span as well. At first, he thinks he’s envious of Taemin, until settling in his company he sees the sentiment is reciprocated. Taemin wants in Jongin the growth, the sense of graduality, whereas Jongin thinks Taemin has already won all the opportunities in his life, and he thirsts for a taste of the triumph. He finds that there’s no one who can see him like Taemin does. And so they make a delightful pair; Jongin moves — Taemin dances with him.

Work becomes covert for escape. Jongin learns he’s one of the exceptional people who can not only work their passion but also take pride in _excelling_ at it. It’s his solace outside the city’s current that drives him to his breaking point; if Seoul-D wants him to _work_ , then he’ll find enjoyment in the torture. He’ll build and bring until his body gives, but only his body, because Jongin’s heart will always love in what he does.

When he meets Kyungsoo again, his heart falls in an unexpected motion. It sets its course the second he sees the man, now older but still so incredibly _young_ , his face’s features graced with the maturity, a captured memory metamorphosed into completion. Jongin’s first thought is: _I’ve grown taller than him_. And then— _hyung is beautiful._ His hazel eyes are full with mystery and his heart-shaped lips seal the thousand words of the lullaby Jongin’s kept stored in his heart all these years. Kyungsoo’s voice is deep and resounding as he greets him with a soft smile and Jongin—Jongin is enamored.

“ _Hello, hyung_.”

There are times where the world feels at its place, where all the sights align and the harmony is heard at last, and in the instant where they meet again Jongin feels the order of the universe, the still peace in his body and mind, like there will never be a worry in his life with Kyungsoo at his side. That his look, touch, and breath — all of it is _right_.

And like the flame consuming the match, Jongin falls in love—continuously, with haste, racing against the burnout. Even in his own heart, Jongin is running.

The Cycle is his stranger, just like his _song_ — it’s what he's always thought, until the storm cradles him and Kyungsoo in the bed, surrounding them with its force, and the music that dwelled in his heart all his life delivers on its own. The sound is like a second voice, the echo of his soul in the space in front of him—now no longer like a kind of curse, never again a prison, but a new refuge he shares with Kyungsoo. In his home. At the market. In the park. At the top of the spire—orbiting around the stars in the galaxy. He reclaims the space with the _song_ , he moves in the earth with his love.

At last, Jongin finds peace, and he’s _happy_.

 

—

 

The fog clears. Jongin’s breath quiets with the storm, and Kyungsoo resurfaces from the deep blue of his eyes. Their gazes are locked in the ardor of the feeling, connected by a string of thoughts perceived by them both — Jongin pulls back and stares, looking mystified, and Kyungsoo lets out a shaky breath, his hand slowly trailing down the younger’s arm, to recapture his sense of touch.

“What… just happened?” Jongin asks in a whisper.

Kyungsoo opens his mouth, but everything he wants to say seems to be already acknowledged, Jongin appears to him now like a prediction, a second sight come to life. Like he’s been here before, and again, in Jongin’s portrait, his eyes, hair, lips, smile—traits he’s marked and possessed himself. It appears to him with the feeling of recognition, like looking at a photograph right after taking it.

_You’re beautiful,_ Kyungsoo thinks, and it seems like Jongin can hear it, he can hear the emotion that can’t be put into words: _you’re so beautiful and I’m in love with you._ His body is blooming with the confession that echoes back, a flurry of thoughts voyaging between them, and before Kyungsoo can recover from the shock, Jongin leans down and captures his mouth again, kisses him ardently. It’s languid but urgent, less of a punch but seizes Kyungsoo just as much.

He breathes in through his nose and his fingers slip onto where Jongin’s have threaded in his hair, caressing his head. The stirring in his body rises with the heat, the fervor, Kyungsoo surrenders himself to the thrill just as Baekhyun’s voice breaks through their daze.

“If you two are done, we have a genocide to prevent.”

Jongin pulls them apart with a gasp, his hands trembling where he holds Kyungsoo against him. The sentiment connecting them wanes very slightly, and Kyungsoo, stunned, resists the urge to kiss him again, fights the desire that rages inside of him. He’s never felt like this before in his life.

Jongin doesn’t look away. “Hyung…”

“Are you OK?” he asks cautiously. “Does… does it hurt?”

The brunet blinks slowly, hands dropping into his. Their fingers lace. “I…”

“What are you doing!” Baekhyun interrupts, but his expression of irritation suddenly turns into astonishment as he glances between them, evaluating with that steeled look of his. “Wh—stop. Wait—did you two _sync?_ ”

“Sync?” Jongin moves back. “What?”

“Wait—Jongdae told me about that,” Kyungsoo says, squeezing his hands. “He said he set it off, in me.”

“Did you two sing together? You synced, I can feel it.”

“What’s syncing?”

“It’s…” The commander’s eyes narrow, and as he lowers his voice, Kyungsoo detects in it a distant melancholy. “It’s… it’s when two people’s cycles join in a bond. It happens when both hosts summon the _linking song_. Your thoughts and memories are shared, amongst other things.” He looks away. “It’s… It’s a very difficult thing, to sync with someone, because it demands a unique connection between parties’ psyches, that translates to the _song_.”

Jongin stares back at Kyungsoo, his blue eyes widening in surprise and the sudden joy pulling at his lips. Kyungsoo can’t help his excitement either—he can feel Jongin on a whole new level; their cycles go between them like they belong to one another, and it’s _so_ familiar, so longed for, yearned. He can touch all the space in Jongin’s mind—he can sense the deepest parts in his thoughts. He can hear his heart beat.

Kyungsoo felt _electrified_ at the realization that he had turned back time with Jongdae, but syncing with Jongin merits an exhilaration beyond anything else. He cycled into dimensions, and he cycled into Jongin’s soul—he doesn’t think he could ever get used to having his voice and heart in his head.

“Me neither, I—this is incredible,” the younger whispers, letting out a laugh. “I can… I can hear you. I can _feel_ you.”

“Your cycles are connected now,” Baekhyun says, his tone impatient. “Put that to use.”

The sharp twinge from Kyungsoo’s indignation is felt by them both like a needle. Jongin mimics the light glare he gives the commander; after all the pain and angst they’d suffered, they’d finally found each other in a secret world, in an intimacy of their own, untouchable, _unbreakable_. A purity that belonged to them only—and again Baekhyun wanted to stain it with EXO’s poison. Like their Cycle and songs, he demanded it a weapon, their love. They would never be free from it.

Baekhyun’s expression hardens with the stretch of the silence. Jongin, disheartened, suddenly asks him: “Have you ever synced?”

The commander immediately stiffens, the semblance of a wretched sight flashing past his wide eyes, and he turns away from them without another word. Kyungsoo and Jongin watch him march toward the stationed motor beneath the gate of the estate, before the spike of worry is shared between them—the hard reminder of the grave reality that inhabited outside of their beautiful piece of mind. The mission still stood; there was a horror they had to stop today.

Jongin straps himself in the back of the open compartment while Kyungsoo, holding his hand, takes the passenger seat. Baekhyun sets the coordinates on the panel and the motor charges down the lane. They drive through the fog that disperses, penetrating the haze, on the abandoned road toward the waterfront. Kyungsoo soothes his fingers over Jongin’s, turning over the map inside his head, the one the younger looks in both dread and wonder, on his side of the link.

“Junmyeon,” Baekhyun breathes out after a few miles. They turn to his attention. “I synced with Junmyeon, years ago when we met. But it wasn’t like you two now. Our abilities to sync aren’t developed, and only exceptionally leveled Cyclists who are very trained with their _song_ can complete a full and healthy sync. You said Jongdae set it off inside you, Kyungsoo—syncing is something that _you_ can accomplish now, with most Cyclists. But Jongdae must be powerful, if he could do that to you.”

Kyungsoo feels a shiver, remembering the force of Jongdae’s _song_ , his touch that shocked his entire body in the dream. Jongin’s reaction is envigored, eyes running over him like he’s going through his memory, fascinated.

“What about you, Baekhyun?”

“I’m strong,” he states plainly. “Junmyeon is strong too. When it happened, we were vulnerable. It wasn’t intentional, but more importantly it wasn’t consensual. Neither of us wanted it. It played a part in the syncing’s failure, I—” he takes a deep, angry breath, sighing loudly, “—I can still feel the trace, sometimes. Junmyeon’s thoughts escape here and there.”

He turns to Kyungsoo with a perusing look. His exasperation gives place to annoyance. “I didn’t like you, when I met you. I liked you even less before I met you—you were always on Junmyeon’s mind, you and Sehun. He worries about you. But not more than he cares for you. Do you have any idea what he’s been through? Do you understand the extent of that man’s sacrifices? How much he was willing to give up for you? After me and EXO, I didn’t think he’d ever fall into that sort of pit ever again. It’s a torture spiral of his own making.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, you know,” Kyungsoo replies sourly. He thinks suddenly that, while he might be able to contain his ill feelings, his emotions now have another channel to engage in, and he isn’t sure how much control Jongin has on his side of their newly-birthed link. “Neither of us did.”

“I don’t blame you,” Baekhyun bites out, “I _envy_ you. Don’t you see that? Years and years of projects and sentiment, and he drops everything for the sake of his young trainee, for his _dumb little crush_. He’s worked his life for EXO, he’s worked his life for _me_ —and then you come in the picture and he turns away.”

“ _What is your problem?_ ” Jongin blurts out angrily, the exclamation conveyed directly from Kyungsoo’s own thoughts. “I—can’t you understand we never wanted to be a part of this? We’ve suffered a lot too, you know—it’s not just EXO, it’s not just _you_.”

“I know that,” Baekhyun says, slowly, “ _I know that_. I’m upset. That’s all. Junmyeon never wanted any of this either, but he promised me. He gave me his word.”

He reaches inside his jacket and takes out a long coated object — the tranquilizer — and raises it in front of Kyungsoo. “He didn’t want to give it to you this time. But you’ll need it.”

Kyungsoo takes the piston and lays it in his hand. The item brings him back to his network in the ruins, and the next second there’s a new room that appears in front of his eyes: Jongin’s network is a vast but desolate terrain, scorched grounds with rocky spits and dead trees. Kyungsoo slightly jumps when he recognizes the ravaged park where they used to play inside their first sector. The younger rips the image out of their minds, apologizing quietly.

“Wow,” Kyungsoo breathes out in amazement. “Jongin…”

“Your cycles have coupled well,” Baekhyun doesn’t sound bitter, but rather forlorn. “Lucky for you.”

He presses on his channel and the mask closes over his mouth, and with that Kyungsoo thinks he can understand it. The last of Baekhyun’s confession is locked back with the murmur of regret, the sorrow in his dusty eyes cast away, the dejection of his body that sags, exhausted. Baekhyun has burned so much of himself—there was only one thing left to set off today. One last fire, to put his suffering heart at peace: Park Chanyeol and the regime.

Kyungsoo places a hand on his arm. “Baekhyun, none of this ever meant that Junmyeon stopped fighting for EXO, for you. We never wanted to interfere with your projects. Maybe—maybe you don’t understand why Junmyeon could’ve given up everything, like you said, just for us. But whether he did it for me or Sehun, it doesn’t mean he values us more than EXO—more than _you_. It’s just a matter of bad odds. He’s a man who’s been through a lot, like you said, right? He has to make sacrifices.”

When Baekhyun stays silent, Kyungsoo decides to push further: “When I was in the chamber with Chanyeol and the Cyclists, I was ready to give my life for Jongin. It wasn’t him, at the time, but I thought it was, and he’d put me through a lot (Jongin looks down, miserable), but when Chanyeol had me at gunpoint, I was ready to surrender for him. Even after everything he did, I was going to give myself up, because I thought I didn’t have anything anymore. I thought everyone was dead. Baekhyun, in the Interior, you stepped to warn me about Jongin — you got shot for me. Junmyeon and Yixing — they both wanted to protect Sehun and me. And even now, we’re risking our lives to go save Jongdae, and the city. We have no idea what we’re up against but we’re still on our way — we’re still hoping.

I’m sorry about what happened, Baekhyun. I don’t know your life, but I know you’ve been hurt. I’m sorry about that, and I’m sorry about Junmyeon, and EXO. I’m sorry about Chanyeol. But you have to accept things as they are now, and you have to accept us. Maybe you don’t want to, but we’re not here to hurt you.”

The sentiment suddenly pulls Kyungsoo to Jongin, whose eyes are tired, but twinkle tenderly. He smiles endearingly.

“And… And maybe some day, you’ll understand how Junmyeon feels. Maybe there’ll be something, or _someone_ — and you’d know that you’d give up everything for them. That you wouldn’t hesitate for a second.” Kyungsoo is momentarily lost inside his own words, mixing with Jongin in their link. The brush of their cycles is eager, almost aggressive, and it’s difficult to get a hold of his own conscience; the bond is possessing them. It’s the kind of new love that’s young, fierce — wild hearts in motion. He and Jongin are running together, at last.

When he resurfaces, the atmosphere is heavy, and he sees from the tracker locked on the monitor that the hangar’s zone is approaching. Baekhyun stares off at the path in front of them, fixing his channel. Kyungsoo isn’t sure why he’s talking about _love_ of all things to Baekhyun, right now, as they make their way toward certain danger, but Baekhyun has to believe some of it—he must if he wants to understand Junmyeon. And Kyungsoo knows that Baekhyun needs Junmyeon.

The commander doesn’t meet his eyes, but gives a scornful smile after a few tense seconds. “We’ll kill that bastard today, won’t we?”

“You’ll have everything you want, Baekhyun.”

The icy wind is a cold sheet against their heads. The last of the storm disappears over the sector highlands, leaving them to the murk of the rain, the darkness takes shape over them as they advance toward peril.

“I know,” Baekhyun says. “He promised.”

 

—

 

Just like in the Interior, Kyungsoo’s Cycle rises with the threat, the sense that something—or rather someone—is here. The hangar is encircled by a foul smog that obscures the compound’s surroundings, transforming the dreary island into a stockade out of the sun, where time and nature can’t touch. The only thing that gives presence is the enormous beacon’s rotating light, raised above them, and the inaudible whistle that comes from the trepidation, a noise of emptiness and ruin. 

Weapons in hand, Baekhyun exits the motor and signals them to follow behind him. He leads them inside the clearing, edging painstakingly toward the hangar’s building on the other side. The silence is terribly unnerving; Jongin anxiously holds onto Kyungsoo’s hand as they creep under the mist.

A few steps into the open, the commander retrieves his tracker and opens the map, only to find the transmission terminated. He motions for Kyungsoo and Jongin to stop—they crouch frozen inside the clearing’s entrance, listening for the slightest shift in the current. Baekhyun’s fingers set a sequence on his recorder that Kyungsoo doesn’t recognize. He follows the commander’s line of sight inside the clearing. Just as his eyes still, Jongin jolts, a sheer scare taking over the link; in the middle of the white grounds stands Park Chanyeol, motionless and staring right at them. The translucent coat he wears is ink-stained, and paints him like a black ghost in the center of the clearing, commanding the smoke. The sight is ghastly and racks Kyungsoo’s pounding heart—he’s too afraid to move, and Jongin’s own fear is overpowering, confusing his senses. The low vibrations coursing under them make themselves aware — motors are closing in on them. They’re surrounded.

The urgency startles him out of his paralysis; without thought, he reaches inside his jacket for the tranquilizer, but Baekhyun is quick to stop him. Kyungsoo turns to him in surprise — the commander doesn’t break gaze from the General’s son.

“Go,” he orders. “I’ll take care of this.”

“What?” Jongin exclaims. “We’re not leaving you here! There’s a front coming!”

“ _Go_ ,” Baekhyun says firmly. “Get Jongdae out. I won’t leave this place.”

“Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo whispers, “Baekhyun—he’s—”

“You have five seconds before I tear your Cycle out of your brains.”

Jongin looks at Kyungsoo in panic, hand tightening on his gun. Baekhyun finally turns to him — the emotion in his steel eyes is unreadable. His body is strengthened with his infrangible resolve; his war is here at last, and nothing would stop him from exacting his vengeance. The War and the Park regime — this was something they couldn’t understand.

And so Kyungsoo has no choice but to yield. He lets his hand fall lightly over the man's shoulder. “Be careful.”

Baekhyun closes his eyes and dips his head. With a last touch on his back, Kyungsoo pulls Jongin away from the entrance, running huddled to the right side where they stalk toward the clearing’s border. Chanyeol notices them, but doesn’t move from his spot, gray eye fixed on Baekhyun kneeling on the ground.

At the cut near the center where they come face with the front of motors, Kyungsoo crowds Jongin down and activates their channels. He raises his head and looks back at the entrance. Baekhyun is standing up, head still lowered but his dark eyes rolling up, hardened like stone, a _ferocity_ Kyungsoo has never witnessed before. The next moments are so anticipated they happen in a slowed focus, as if incapacitated by the pure pressure in the air. _Star_ ’s fingers reach for his recorder and he pulls off the mask, ripping it off with his lip-piercing. It falls to the ground soundlessly.

Jongin’s breath hitches in apprehension, and Kyungsoo tenses up. His Cycle is straining, attempting to draw him toward the hangar, but he can’t look away from the scene; Baekhyun, _Star_ —unchained, his voice laid bare, and everyone exposed.

Baekhyun takes a step forward, and Chanyeol whistles sharply. The rumble and droning rise up with the smog. _Star_ doesn’t falter, striding steadily into the nest. When he opens his mouth, they charge. The first note is torn out of his chest—he immediately raises his _song_ to its levels, stronger and more resonant than anything Kyungsoo’s ever heard. The waves blast through the clearing and hit through him and Jongin unexpectedly, the link shuddering under the force of the strike. Kyungsoo chokes out a breath, his ears are ringing. “Jongin!”

The brunet grabs onto him as they push through the smog. The sound of gunfire erupts over the music. Baekhyun sings like there’s a ball in the hollow of his throat, a broken emotion taking the form that diffuses harsh and relentless. His voice engulfs the clearing and swallows the space, the sound—it’s a _bomb_ that obliterates everything in its path. In front of him, Chanyeol advances with all the confidence in the world, flaring of him like the enveloping smoke. The eyepiece over his head spins uncontrollably. It occurs to Kyungsoo, between the impact of the explosions and the reverberations of Baekhyun’s _song_ , that there’s another presence forcing its way inside the chaos—Chanyeol’s Cycle working against Baekhyun’s. _Star_ pushes forward, bringing his music louder, fuller, higher, so much that it almost turns into a dry scream. Chanyeol, feeling the resistance, fights back with a bursting voice of his own. They charge at each other, rage against rage, crash after crash, neither of them relenting. This is where unmovable meets unstoppable.

_I let go of it all_  
_You’re all I have left_  
_Let’s take this to the end, rock and roller_  
_We have the same fate, the quarter’s already been tossed_  
_You’re the controller that moves me_  
_Feel our soul, forever, I run to you_

_I run to you_

The collision turns into an _infiltration_ — Baekhyun hurriedly wrests himself out of the _song_ like he’s been scalded, but it’s too late, the _burn_ is felt. Chanyeol’s fire extinguishes on his Cycle’s course and the last of the overlapping notes are consumed with it.

Time comes to a stop the next moment, the second when the realization dawns on them with the clamor in their minds that Baekhyun recognizes perfectly. He watches in horror as Chanyeol staggers back, his hand making a fist against his temple, trembling. A hot chill runs up his spine. Baekhyun steps back, tries to exert his Cycle, and his heart has stopped because _how, no—they couldn’t have_. But no matter how much he tries to block it out, the roar, the cry—there’s no mistaking it, not again.

The General’s son is scared. He’s _terrified_. And until he stops prolonging this momentous instant where their thoughts pull at each other, like both ends of a knot, Baekhyun finds himself inspecting the other man’s pale face, mapping the remarkable features — Chanyeol’s deep gray eye, his ruby hair, the elegant sculpt of his head. His eyepiece, decelerating. Baekhyun watches its strange motion, and feels inside of him his own Cycle in simulation.

A siren explodes, shaking him awake. The smoke dissipates, and Chanyeol flees the clearing, his black coat an inky wisp in the haze. Baekhyun hears the command he throws behind him, but not from the space outside him. _Them_.

The last of the motors start the formation, and Baekhyun quickly drops to the ground, hand searching for his recorder. When he captures it, he breaks off the mic from the channel and throws it down. He takes a deep, full breath, converging all the energy left in his body to the center of his chest, and howls. With his boot, he crushes the mic on the ground, and strains to keep his eyes open on the scene as the waves of the bomb blow out with his voice. He manages to catch sight of Kyungsoo and Jongin, stumbling over the hangar’s entrance but dragging themselves through.

Baekhyun knows the limits of his voice but he’s never been deafened by it until now. The ringing is so loud that he can barely recognize himself in the sound. He’s not singing anymore. This was a scream from his heart, a scream he hoped would _kill_ the flame set in his body, to smother the ravage, to erase the violation. He would let it take away his voice to be free from it.

Steadily, the quiet returns, returns with a heavy current, and the whisper of death. The weight falls on Baekhyun like rain. He stands in middle of the destruction, the devastation, just like he always has. Bodies and metal in a heap, his Cycle burrowed back inside him, deeper after each time, sinking away from the horror. The hole in his heart will never feel so empty.

A hand smooths over his throat and he lets out a painful breath. Alone in the silence, collecting his senses, rebuilding himself inside out. When his feeling finally settles, he moves forward in the clearing, breathing in the thick air.

The sun is out. Baekhyun tramps to the few rays of light that make a puddle on the ground. He reaches for his channel to call Junmyeon when the tracker inside his jacket intervenes with a critical call. He opens it to find a transmission, encoded, but in which he recognizes _Bulletproof_ ’s stamp. RM’s signature. He enters the sequence and comes face with an empty message box, and a copied file with the regime’s unmistakable print on the label.

> X.12 THE RED FORCES

 

—

 

The underground facility of the South’s District is a labyrinth in the dark. The walls confine themselves, lead paths on their own. Mirrors and screens are erected on all sides, sending the reflections back to their invaders. The lights in the corners blink in puzzling sequences, activating and shutting routes. Kyungsoo and Jongin tread in a living maze.

Jongdae’s map guides them deep inside the passages. With every step and turn, the noise of static inside the facility amplifies. Kyungsoo can feel it surging inside his body, with the gap in his mind that strings itself back to the source — the powerful Cyclist in the vault. With effort, Jongin hangs on inside the link, working his thoughts on the signal, and presses himself as close as possible to him.

When they reach the portal of entry to the last floor, Kyungsoo notices the mezzanine open on their left. He motions Jongin down the floor where they exit in the next room.

“We’re close,” he whispers. “There’s a bridge ahead. Then an elevator in the last room. Jongdae’s vault is on the fourth floor below.”

The room is disproportionately wide, and eerily empty. They cross through at rapid pace, hand in hand running out in the open, the state of exposure driving them faster. In these interminable seconds, Kyungsoo’s never felt more chased by the nothingness; he fearfully glimpses back behind and above them only to seize the invisible entities of his agitated imagination. The bridge’s entrance seemed unreachable.

“Are you OK?” he asks Jongin when, at last, they slow toward the gate. “We’re here. Hey.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “That was terrifying.”

Kyungsoo wraps his arm over him and ushers him inside the new room. The bridge is built on a long platform raised over a sort of arena. The walls are sectioned with glass doors and panels. At the end of the circuit lights up the elevator — Kyungsoo can faintly feel the waves climbing from the underground.

“Let’s go.” He walks steadily with Jongin onto the platform, their hurried footsteps a reverberating sound solidified with the hard metal surface. At the bridge’s center, Jongin takes a glance around them, and abruptly pulls Kyungsoo back. “Hyung!” His eyes land on a glass door where a silhouette is cast in the reflection. The reaction time is delayed by their startled response to the trick; the panel of the door right by their side closes and Minseok steps out, advancing toward them with his gun raised.

“Don’t move.”

“Wait!” Kyungsoo exclaims, pushing Jongin back. “Wait—Minseok, we’re here to save Jongdae!”

“I said don’t move!” Minseok stalks forward with an acute grace that intimidates with the chilling stare of his dark eyes. His sharp expression turns severe at the name. “How do you know about him?”

“He told me in a dream—this isn’t what you think! We don’t have time, the General’s going to—”

“In a dream?” he growls. “No, you’re the one who’s dreaming.”

“Wait—no! Please believe us!” Jongin cries out, slipping away from Kyungsoo’s hold. “This isn’t a dream! We know you want to help him!”

“ _Shut up!_ ” the man screeches, and in the outburst Kyungsoo and Jongin can finally hear his distress, can feel his despair; the way his grip shakes, the way his face twists in pain with the emotion — like Chanyeol, Minseok had his disillusions. He had his share of the brutality.

“Minseok—please. We’re here to help, you have to believe us.”

“I said shut up! No. You have no idea what’s real and not! You don’t know _anything_. Get back—I’ll _fucking kill you_.”

He charges his gun and strides boldly toward them; Kyungsoo freezes on the spot, he’s never witnessed so much menace in a person — not even Chanyeol and Baekhyun had the concentrated _viciousness_ of this man before him. Kyungsoo is raising himself up for a fight when he senses the link be overcome with stress. The next second, Jongin moves in front of him, hands in the air.

“OK, all right. Please—don’t hurt us.”

To Kyungsoo’s surprise, Minseok stands down easily, signaling him closer. The man’s anxiousness seems to be affecting him too much, and Kyungsoo watches in consternation as Jongin walks to his side, surrendering so simply. For a moment, there is terror that’s carried out of him, the frightening thought that _it still isn’t Jongin_ , that there was somehow another level to the unending nightmare—until Minseok turns his attention to Kyungsoo, and Jongin swiftly lifts his elbow and strikes the man in the face.

Minseok shouts and Jongin uses his height to crowd him down, driving his foot on the wrist of the hand holding the gun, and his arms locking around his neck.

“ _Hyung!_ ” he shrieks, struggling. “Hyung, now!”

 Minseok seethes and lashes out, and Kyungsoo snaps out of the scene, tearing out the tranquilizer from his jacket. It hits his temple just as Minseok’s vibrant voice draws out.

_This is a world made just for me_  
_Your warmth, your light, your waves_  
_are made just for me_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do yall think is this going to end well


	10. Winter Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR WARNINGS: blood, violence, gore, some body horror and past trauma, slight suicidal themes
> 
> I was unsure if I should raise the rating just for this chapter... again, english isn't my first language, sorry for the weird phrasings! I hope you enjoy this chapter because I really liked writing it. here we go!

Minseok’s best friend shoots him between the eyes on the eve of his fourteenth birthday. The trigger is pulled with the terrified grimace on the boy’s face as he shuts his eyes and shakes from head to toe. When the moment passes, the silence is a blow more wounding than the betrayal. Minseok’s eyes are wide but without tears, as he watches the boy drop the gun and bolt to the escaping ship. The man on the platform heaves him up and the door slams on the windy bridge—his friend doesn’t look back. 

The storm rises with the ship that disappears in the horizon, over the beacons that alert the breach. Minseok is frozen on the dock, drenching in the rain and breathing the cold fog, stays completely put until the lieutenants force him on the convoy back to the General’s house. Everything is numb.

When he’s cleaned and dressed, he’s informed by the commander in chief that he’s been entrusted the care of the General’s new ward. Minseok is led to the master chamber and left alone to the small boy in bandages, sitting at the footboard of the bed with his knees against his chest. The left side of his head is bound in a thick headset. He looks up at Minseok with a dark but broken eye, a look of distrust and sorrow.

“What’s your name,” Minseok asks listlessly, voice dragged out of him.

The boy doesn’t answer, and his expression only seems to harden. Minseok takes a step forward.

“What’s your name,” he repeats slower, louder. The boy looks away.

The ragged breaths fill the silence for these long, tense seconds. Minseok has a lot of patience, but today he is done. Today, the tide has frozen, and Minseok’s body is in ice like his heart. His soul is in a deadlock. All the hopes and dreams of his life have abandoned themselves to this exact moment, this last moment where the gun doesn’t kill him, but everything else does. His existence is deserted to this frozen moment in time, to the motion of the past — there’s nothing beyond this point. Today he has stopped moving. Today he stops feeling. Today his self has given up—today he has become someone else.

“I’m your hyung now,” Minseok says, staring down at the boy who quickly raises his eye back to him. “And you’re going to listen to me. Hyung asked you your name.”

“Chanyeol,” he mutters.

“Chanyeol,” Minseok replies. “Chanyeol, aren’t you going to ask hyung for his name?”

Chanyeol turns to him and scowls, but he immediately winces, letting out a pained whimper. His hand covers the gauze on his eye and he buries his head between his bruised knees. The instance startles Minseok, who immobilizes as the boy keeps from crying.

“Hey,” Minseok whispers. He doesn’t know why he can’t move. “Are you… Did they give you medicine?”

The shake of his head is slight and trapped in his arms, but Minseok catches it anyway. He swallows the dryness in his throat and, without moving any closer, gently kneels to Chanyeol’s level.

“I’m going to take care of you now, OK?” The boy hiccups and sobs, and it’s so painfully raw and agonizing that Minseok wants to cry with him. He makes to reach forward but stops as the boy wails. He can’t do it. “It’s OK… Hyung is going to take care of you. Hyung won’t let anything happen to you.”

Chanyeol lifts his head, his cheeks are stained with tears and blood. The bandage over his left eye is stripping off with the fluids leaking through. It’s disgusting and gruesome, and Minseok fights the nausea rising in his chest. He calls for the infirmary and watches as Chanyeol is escorted out with the officers. It’s the first and last time he sees Chanyeol cry, and the first and last time he can give him away.

Minseok is born into the guard force and the regime’s service unit; he is born like he works, in protocol and duty. He doesn’t know who his parents are, and so family is allegiance. He is the regime’s—he is the General’s. He’s not raised, he’s trained. He’s conditioned. He _is not_ , in the end—he only obeys, and belongs.

Minseok forgets. He throws away the memories, the promises, even though they’re already out of use, out of sentiment. He builds a new mind over the grave of his heart, and unlike the old this one is cold-stoned and unmoving. Minseok lives in the hell he was born in, and made from.

He is 14. He stands alone and exhausted in his bedroom and sings himself happy birthday. There’s a chill in the air and he feels surrounded, trapped. He almost faints just as he hears footsteps in his doorway. Chanyeol, changed with a new bandage over his eye, pads into the room.

“It’s your birthday?” he asks flatly.

The temperature seems to lapse. Minseok stares at him for a while, before he answers: “Not my real one. I don’t know when I was born. Today is the day I met someone.” _He left yesterday. He left me_.

Minseok suddenly feels lost — what does he do with the boy? And it occurs to Minseok that he’s not the one in position to decide at all. Chanyeol wasn’t given to him— _he_ was given to Chanyeol.

The first weeks are the easiest — Minseok follows a routine. He prepares the boy for his lessons and supervises his meals. He gives him his medicine and checks the progress on his wounds. He locks his chamber at night and wakes him up in the morning. They don’t speak to each other.

At the end of the month, Minseok actually touches Chanyeol for the first time. It isn’t without purpose but there’s no expecting it either; Chanyeol is staring at himself in the bathroom mirror and won’t follow him when he calls. Minseok’s hand makes a fist on his shoulder and then the boy jolts, lunges at him in an instant and swiftly throws him on the ground. Minseok is momentarily too shocked to fight back, and takes the three blows to his jaw before he spits out a growl and knees him in the stomach. His hand strikes Chanyeol’s temple, hitting his patched eye, and the boy screeches in pain, rolling over to his side and clutching his face.

Minseok pulls himself up and quickly presses the emergency dial on his keywatch. The detonating chime that follows makes Chanyeol jerk up. “ _No!_ No! Please, don’t!”

The boy starts to scream, cowering on the floor, and Minseok once again freezes, goes rigid at the fearful cries. A moment later the guards enter the room and drag Chanyeol up, Chanyeol who shrieks and thrashes, a line of blood trailing down his face. Minseok doesn’t move.

He makes a report that he never delivers. He doesn’t see Chanyeol for four days. He doesn’t want to see Chanyeol.

“I’m sorry,” he obliges, when the boy is returned to his room. The brace of his body is severe, and his expression is graver than before. Chanyeol doesn’t answer. He looks stressed.

The following week is the hardest, Minseok is careful not to touch him and tries altogether to limit their interactions. Each day seems to be more difficult than the previous, Minseok becomes rather enervated than miserable. Chanyeol refuses to speak and Minseok isn’t much inclined to talk either.

On Sunday, he receives a temporary schedule. Meal times are cut, and their shared sessions are decreased considerably. Friday is fully cleared. When Minseok reads the notice on the tablet, he sees that Chanyeol is scheduled for a four-hour surgery that day.

Minseok coerces Chanyeol into finishing his food. The boy slams the silver down and pushes himself as far away as possible. The behavior doesn’t last through the week; Chanyeol becomes increasingly anxious as the operation approaches and grows agitated when Minseok ignores him.

On Thursday night, Chanyeol is forbidden to eat, and Minseok is preparing an early lockdown in the bedroom when he feels the boy’s open eye on him. He turns to see Chanyeol burrowed in the bed, hidden in the dark, and looking at him fearfully.

He’s a child. He’s naïve. Minseok has been as scared as him before, and he knows how the regime operates their youth’s minds. Chanyeol doesn’t know anything else, outside the madness. It isn’t his fault.

Minseok’s first action against his orders since the breakout is carried out resolutely, and without shame. He gives Chanyeol a sleeping pill. The boy is too relieved to act surprised and snatches the medicine from Minseok’s hand — he touches Chanyeol as their fingers brush.

The next morning, Chanyeol is already in surgery when Minseok wakes up. He sits next to him when he’s brought in on the cot inside the recovery room. The side of his head is boxed in with a strange metallic device, and the bandage over his eye prevents Minseok from seeing the prominent object implanted inside. The boy sleeps soundly—he looks so vulnerable. Chanyeol’s face is tranquil like this, untroubled, _at peace_ ; Minseok feels his heart grow fond. He can’t help his feelings from reaching out but he wants to scream. He reproaches himself: _you tried once to give yourself to happiness, look what happened. Look what he did to you. You can’t even feel properly anymore_.

Minseok is scared. He doesn’t want what happened with _him_ happen with Chanyeol, not again, _never_ again. He won’t let himself get attached to the boy. He’s not emotionally capable of it, anyway. _Your heart has stopped_.

He falls asleep. He dreams of _him_ , his delicate face, his curly hair, his bright eyes. In his dream, the gun has one last charge, and his friend kills him. Minseok wrenches himself awake, breathless and shaking. He turns to Chanyeol; the boy is awake and looking at him.

“Who’s that?”

Minseok blinks. “What?”

“You kept saying his name.”

The object behind the bandage stirs lightly, as if inspecting Minseok, Minseok who’s incapable of not staring. Chanyeol keeps talking, voice hoarse but firm:

“It’s him, isn’t it? The person you met. The person who hurt you.”

Minseok stays silent, and peers closely at the boy lying on the cot. His hand hesitates before resting on Chanyeol’s cheek. He’s changed—something’s changed.

“ _Hyung_ ,” Chanyeol says, for the first time. “Hyung will take care of me.”

It’s an order.

The first winter ends with the recovery, but this winter never leaves Minseok. As the seasons pass he realizes his hands are always cold and his body never moves on his own will — it’s Chanyeol’s charge that prompts him, that keeps him busy from the bad thoughts. He’s still not fast enough, unable to keep up with Chanyeol’s rapidly mutating personality. He was no longer the bloodied boy Minseok was given to; he is the General’s son.

Along with his character is the growth in height. Chanyeol becomes unbelievably tall and by his sixteenth birthday he’s already towering over Minseok. The dynamics have undeniably changed—or so Minseok thinks. There’s no challenging Chanyeol’s authority, this much is true; the boy— _the man_ —has taken the role forced upon him, so Minseok is Chanyeol’s as much as he is the regime’s. He obeys and belongs to the General’s son. But the _original Chanyeol_ , the spirit of the boy behind the curtain of the regime, this young, rowdy, punk-wild _kid_  is the other one Minseok has to keep in check for years. Chanyeol is cocky, cutthroat, ruthless, and most of all _proud_. He enjoys himself as he pleases, goes to places, drinks, _does things_ with people. He relishes in his power for the youth that was stolen away from him. But when the doors close at the end of the day and he returns to Minseok’s attention, he is disciplined, familiar, amenable, almost friendly. Minseok is his name in Seoul-D’s company, and _hyung_ when they are alone. Chanyeol _likes_ him, whether it’s out of trained company or actual genuine affection, nobody knows, and Minseok gains a reputation within the ranks of the regime—the Prince’s _dog_ , his silent ragdoll.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Minseok is approached one evening by an officer, from a group that stops him in the empty hall. “Park’s busboy.”

Minseok says nothing, clutching closer the tray of waste shards he’s carried from the laboratory. When he tries to pass, the men push him back, giving him dirty looks.

“That little punk of yours has gotten himself in shitloads of trouble,” he snarls, “and guess who’s always picking up after? Not you, no, not _his baby_.” They snicker. Minseok is rooted on the floor—his knuckles are white. _Walk away_ , he cries at himself. _Why can’t you move_.

The officer slaps down the tray and the shards spill at their feet. Minseok is shoved against the wall before they kick him to the floor, and his arm buries itself in the glass. He bites down on the scream.

“You oughtta’ be put in your place. Don’t you know that brat’s _your_ problem?” They leave him on his knees, bleeding in the corridor. Minseok sweeps the stained shards back in the tray and drags himself to the waste chamber without a sound.

He returns to the bedroom with a meal tray. Chanyeol is lying on the bed, reading a treatise on biomechanics. He perks up when Minseok walks in, but his smile falls as he sees the sheet of bloody cuts on the side of his arm. Minseok wordlessly places his dinner on the table and quickly leaves the room, Chanyeol’s eye burning on him.

That night, Minseok has a nightmare. He’s asleep in his bed when he opens his eyes, and Chanyeol’s gigantic body is looming over him in the darkness. The shadows over his face obscure the red spatters, dripping down his jaw and neck. A hand places itself on his forehead and soothes over his hair. Chanyeol smiles, a ghastly grin of teeth, blood, and flesh.

Minseok wakes to the fading smell of blood. It’s the most terrifying memory of his life.

When he goes to file a report in the system, he finds that many of the guards’ numbers have been erased, along with the entirety of their data. Lost, deleted, gone like they never existed.

No one accosts Minseok anymore. No one looks him in the eye. They fear him more than they fear the vulgar, mouthy, brazen maniac that becomes Chanyeol, Chanyeol who's more amiable than ever. When Minseok gives orders, he listens. Chanyeol moves himself to Minseok’s care, and specifically to his _convenience_. He _conforms_ to Minseok all while affirming his claim over him — _I can submit to hyung because I can do anything to him_. The General’s son and his associate. Their relationship is so disturbed and Minseok can’t do anything. He hates the regime—he hates Chanyeol.

“My hyung. _Mine_.”

Minseok protects Chanyeol. The man is the core of the regime, its future. Minseok is the keeper of Seoul-D’s fate, and that fate is a psychopath in red hair and translucent coats, eating the country up. Chanyeol is bored, and so he’s _hungry_. He lacks a purpose so he destroys, ravages until he’s all there’s left, until the earth is bare and _on fire_ and he can lay himself in it, free at last — he’s hurting. And Minseok can’t stop Chanyeol’s violence, can’t follow either—Chanyeol is fleeing the hurt and it’s Minseok at his service who endures the man’s pain for him, because he _takes care_ of Chanyeol, and _Chanyeol only_. Not the regime, not the city, not the country, not the world. The universe is _wretched_ and Minseok’s only alternative of a reason to _keep living_ , day after day, _murder after murder_ , is Park Chanyeol. On the days where Minseok feels like his soul is finally going to freeze, Chanyeol burns him, hot and deep, and Minseok resurges from the ice, harder, harsher, breaking more than ever. His emotions are shattered as much as they are incinerated. Minseok doesn’t have to kill himself to become dead. He doesn’t know how long he can keep taking it.

He is 21, for one more night. Chanyeol is late for curfew again, and tonight, the years have reached their breaking point. Tonight, Minseok has had enough.

Chanyeol stumbles in the room, half-drunk and slurring an unfamiliar song. Minseok remains still and despairingly watches the man teeter around, dragging himself in circles. Minseok sighs and turns around to unlock the bed, when the next second he staggers forward as Chanyeol’s weight falls onto him. Long arms splay over his shoulders and down his chest — the scent of synthetic perfume swamps him. The man’s curled hair rubs against his cheek and the metal of the eyepiece presses on his collarbone.

“ _I’m so alone_ ,” Chanyeol breathes hotly in his neck. Minseok shivers. “I’m so—lonely, hyung, _hyung_ —I don’t wanna’ sleep—I don’t wanna’ sleep alone. Sleep with me, hyung—sleep with me, _please_.”

“Chanyeol, get off me.”

Chanyeol promptly removes himself and falls on the bed, whining. “You’re _so good_ to me—hyung is so _good_ to me. Hyung—hyung will never leave me—” he hiccups, then laughs drily, “—he’ll _never_ leave me. He can’t. _He doesn’t want to_.”

“I’m undressing you,” Minseok says sternly. When he reaches for the jacket, a hand grips his wrist. Minseok glares down at Chanyeol, who rolls his lidded grey eye at him, and grins widely.

“I have—something. I have something for hyung.” He squirms and awkwardly fumbles with the back of his jeans. Minseok angrily tears his arms away and almost jumps when a small box is flown out of the man’s hand, landing on the other side of the bed. Chanyeol makes a satisfied noise and splays himself back. Minseok doesn’t move, eyeing the object with apprehension.

“Well?” Chanyeol growls. His eyepiece starts spinning. “Isn’t hyung going to open his present?” He flings his arm over to the box and pushes it forward. “I want hyung to open it.”

Minseok obeys. Inside the case is a ring—a black shiny band holding a flat jeweled disk at the crown. “What is this?”

“It’s a charge-key. I had it made just for hyung. It’s pretty, isn’t it? It’s personalized too—you have prime access to all the sites.” He smiles, seemingly sober. “Happy birthday.”

Minseok is stupefied. All he manages to answer is: “The birthday is tomorrow.”

“ _Nuh-uh_ ,” Chanyeol taunts, rising up, grinning wickedly. He gazes heavily into Minseok’s eyes. “ _No_. It’s today. Today—is the day we met. Me and hyung. _And nobody else._ ”

He throws his arms over his neck and pulls him down. Minseok falls over but holds himself up, inches away from Chanyeol’s face, and stares into his eye. Chanyeol studies his frown for a long moment, and his smile slowly turns into one of simulated melancholy. “Oh,” he says, “hyung doesn’t want me.”

A minute of silence later, Chanyeol is asleep. Minseok watches him close his eye, watches the eyepiece slow. He tastes the sighs in his mouth, the warm breaths. He gently moves his arms and lies on his side, and though he never understands why, he stays. At some point in the night, their limbs entwine, Chanyeol hugs his body close. It's been so long since Minseok has felt so _touched_ , so close to a heartbeat, so alive and _human_ , but the warmth in his body is hostile—he is in harm’s way, he is in its arms.

The next day, the city is attacked in a blackout. Minseok opens his report to the captured configuration of a hexagon, alight in the total darkness. The ring Chanyeol gifts him hangs from a swivel trigger of the thick lanyard he wears around his neck. The war begins.

EXO intrigues Minseok, and the Cycle fascinates him. He’s aware of the research branch in the sector, has worked projects for the matter, but he doesn’t yet know the danger, the conspiracy. Years after chasing _Bulletproof_ , the SM corps, they have no doubt of EXO’s threat. Chanyeol becomes obsessed with _Star_.

An engineering apprentice is introduced to them. His name is Taeyong and he is seventeen.

The years turn colder, and Minseok’s soul is coming close to its collapse. As time passes, he sees Chanyeol less and less — the enlivened, illuminated, and _roused_ boy of his youth has evolved. Chanyeol leaves early and comes back late, runs his schedule and buries himself in work. He becomes _absent_ and Minseok feels the change, the transformation, sees the eyepiece that has never spun faster. Minseok feels the awakening, perceives the _ignition_ —at last, Chanyeol’s found the thing to light his soul, and Seoul-D has secured its demise.

He calls it the NCT — _Neo-Culture Technology_ , as the General himself baptized it. He calls it the solution, the cure, the cleanse. He calls it _heaven_ , in the palm of his hand.

“Music, hyung, in the sky, in the earth, music all around us, inside us. The thing that makes us what we are, our cycles, our _songs_. _The earth and the skies will come as one_ , when I make it so.”

Minseok is horrified. He didn’t know he was capable of feeling so much _revulsion_ , or of simply _feeling_ so much, after all these years. Chanyeol will always find way to set him up in smoke, he will be the death of him.

“ _It’s insane_ ,” he blurts out in the bedroom. “You—you can’t—you can’t possibly—”

“ _Why?_ Why can’t I?” Chanyeol is suddenly shouting. He throws the tablet he’s holding to the floor. “This is the _answer_ , hyung. This is the future! And it works! The machines, our machines that I’ve worked on for _years_ , that I’ve poured in my blood to build—they work, and Taeyong makes them work! Go see it for yourself—go see it, hyung! You don’t believe me?”

Minseok _does_ believe Chanyeol and it’s in that truth that he sees the horror. He knows Chanyeol can do anything, whether or not it’s sensibly possible—the universe will bend to the man’s will regardless. If Chanyeol wants something, he will get it. But for some reason now Minseok’s dissent is out of his power, out of his will.

“Why can’t you understand? I’m doing this for you, hyung, I’m doing this for us! Aren’t you hurting? Isn’t hyung in pain?” His voice breaks, and the eyepiece stutters. “I can make the pain go away, I can make all the pain in the world disappear! I can kill the _filth_ on this earth—EXO, Bulletproof, everybody, everything! I can make good, I can _make peace_. I can make hyung happy! Why won’t hyung be thankful?”

Chanyeol suddenly drops to the floor, pulling his knees close and forcing his head between his legs, caging himself with his arms. Minseok freezes and he’s hit with the memory of their first meeting; he stands over Chanyeol in the bedroom, Chanyeol who’s so close to crying, but doesn’t, not this time. He’s whispering something instead, words that form a slight tune, a melody Minseok catches and unconsciously follows. He opens his mouth as the boy rasps out:

 _I keep trying to push you away_  
_Had to tell you that I lied_  
_But you know I’m a pretender_  
_I already told you that I’m an unwieldy blade_  
_And if you want me_  
_You might get cut deep_  
_You pretend not to hear my warnings_

 _Let me tell you what’s on my mind_  
_Sorry I can’t be that guy_  
_Don’t expect too much, truly I_

What Minseok remembers most is the blood. The red and the black, everywhere, in front of him, above him, _on him—_ the blood is on his hands, in his face, in his mouth. He’s drowning. Then there are hands on his body, inside his head, hands ripping open his skull, twisting in bolts and wires. Minseok sees himself, his black hair and black eyes and black look, thinks that there’s _nothing_ in this world but blood and darkness, blood and hurt. Then he feels his own hand on his cheek and his heart lurches. _Don’t leave me, hyung, don’t leave_. He sees Seoul-D, he sees metal and fire and blinking lights in the night, he sees _father, you’re not my father, let me go_ —he sees the country below him, the buildings, the people, EXO, the _dirt_ —and _hyung_. Hyung. Minseok is Chanyeol’s only dream.

The world is hell, and he goes crazy.

Minseok is shaking on the floor, choking on his breath. A panicked voice echoes in his ear: “— _hyung, hyung, wake, up, wake up! Minseok-hyung_ — _!_ ” There are hands wrapped around his back, stirring him frantically, and this touch is too much, like fire, like _blisters_ —Minseok shoves Chanyeol back and leaps as far away as he can.

“Don’t touch me!” he screams. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Chanyeol flinches instantly, shrinking against the footboard. Minseok counts his hysteric breaths with the rotations of the eyepiece that falters, and Chanyeol’s own racing heartbeat he hears in his head. The silence is broken by a muffled whimper. Suddenly, Minseok looks at the boy and is overcome with horror. He throws himself down to Chanyeol and hurriedly pulls him in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” he spills over the head buried in his chest. His hand caresses a wet cheek. “Hyung is sorry, hyung isn’t mad, hyung didn’t mean it. I’m sorry—please, forgive me.”

Chanyeol says nothing. His hands weakly climb up Minseok’s sides. Minseok pulls him back and dips his head, desperately trying to lock eyes. “Chanyeol. Look at me. Look at me, please—look at hyung.” He doesn’t move. Minseok has never come so close to crying.

“OK,” he cedes. “Hyung will help you. Hyung will be with you.” He cradles him close. If he lets go, he will die.

After half an hour, Chanyeol slips from Minseok’s grasp, strides out in silence, leaving him alone in the bedroom.

The world is over. There’s nothing left for him. The last of Minseok’s dream dies with his capitulation. If Chanyeol can give him the peace he’s always wished for, then he will let go, he will abandon the last of himself to the madness, will walk indebted into the inferno. He sleeps. He works. He lives. People will die, places will disappear. They will be happy, they will be free.

_Heart that is frozen, becoming strained  
gather here tonight_

Minseok falls in love with Jongdae the second he sees him. Jongdae is beautiful and he’s dreaming. He’s dreaming an impossible fantasy in the colour of green and the shine of gold, sculpted into a man. He’s in the forest, he’s in the flourishing earth, he’s in the sun, beautiful, _dazzling_. Minseok has never seen nature so colourful, has never felt so _captivated_.

Jongdae’s hand trails down his chest, smoothing over a suspender. He meets his eyes, dark, alluring, _electric_. The man disappears in a pink mist inside the grove, where an angelic voice roams.

When Minseok wakes up, he hears his heart beating. The world is moving. Reality has shifted, Minseok feels it in his body, in his heart that’s been revived. He moves, he feels—there is a _shock_ in his fissured soul.

He walks in the empty white halls. He walks in the silent white grounds. He walks in the rust of the city, and its ruin. Compared to the dream, Seoul-D never looked grimmer.

The second time Minseok sees him, nine tortuous days later, he follows the man outside the grove, where the sunlight is thick and bright. He steps into the clearing, bathing in the warmth, breathing in the freshness. Jongdae, further ahead, turns around and gives him a smile, _glowing_. Minseok starts walking as the man strides back, retreating against the grassy, vibrant background.

“Is it beautiful?” he asks. His voice strikes Minseok like _thunder_ and vibrates inside of him.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes out, looking at Jongdae. “You’re beautiful.”

Jongdae smiles softly, blinking closer to Minseok with the shimmering lights. He leads him out in the sun, the water, the grass. They run over the field, chasing each other down the hills. Jongdae skips out of Minseok’s reach; when his fingers touch him, the dream ends.

For three weeks, Jongdae comes to him. Minseok has never waited so impatiently for the end of days in his life, he’s never waited to desperately to _sleep_. The mysterious encounters are his escape. The world inside the regime is more hell than it’s ever been, and Chanyeol is drifting further away from him as the dreams unfold, as he falls deeper in Jongdae’s eyes, his voice. Jongdae takes him out of the forest and into the mountains. He takes Minseok to the earth and the skies, to the dawn and the dusk, space and time, to the end of the galaxy where they are alone with the stars. _The universe_.

One night, he brings Minseok to a field of frost, a vast mountain land covered in white. He lays him down in the cold — _it’s snow, do you like it?_ — climbs over his body, and kisses him deeply. Minseok lets himself fall.

“I need your help,” echoes in the dream just as lightning crashes over them with a terrifying sound.

Minseok wakes alone in his room, hot and shuddering, invigoration stirring in his body. He hears through the ringing in his ears, the sound of their private laboratory’s alarm, calling persistently.

A Cyclist, Chanyeol keeps repeating — _my Cyclist, my most powerful weapon_. _Cycle Hazard: End/None._ Minseok’s beautiful dream is Chanyeol’s thing to destroy the world. Minseok has never been in less than a twenty-mile radius from Jongdae, for all his life. And now, Chanyeol is the one standing between them, Chanyeol who promised to give Minseok everything he dreamed of, and locked it in a vault.

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Everything I want.”

Whatever sentiment Minseok has left for Chanyeol, he has to kill it now.

_Gather the feeling of motionless  
and burn it tonight_

Taeyong is the chief scientist for Chanyeol’s project, and he is _beyond_ the idea of a prodigy — he’s the result of Chanyeol’s applied force, and the regime’s violence. Minseok follows the current—Taeyong is wrung open and broken.

“He’s asleep.” The poor boy’s face is gaunt with fatigue—his voice and movements are _broken_. “He’s never going to wake up.”

Jongdae tells him the same in the next dream. They lie together in the meadow, under the mist, gazing at the stars under the black sun. He holds Minseok’s hand as he points to the brightest one above them, flaring out from the rest.

“I need your help,” he says again. Minseok feels his chest become tight. There are harrowing images moving past his eyes. This time, he’s the one who breaks the dream.

With Chanyeol meeting further with the General, Minseok stays in the laboratory with Taeyong, monitoring the Cyclists. He wonders if Jongdae can sense him when he’s awake, because Minseok doesn’t return to the dream for the entire month. The days are in a loop of torment, and he knows how much stress he’s putting on the scientist. Taeyong’s work becomes slow, idle, _negligent_. He’s delaying something.

The sequence on the monitor is repeated for a fourth time. Taeyong is restless, carelessly moving the configuration, doing everything aimlessly like he’s _playing_ , like he doesn’t care, what happens to Jongdae. Minseok feels his anger rise as he grabs the boy’s wrist and wrenches him off the table.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Taeyong's sharp eyes widen, ill-tired but murderous with his look, and he spits in Minseok’s face: “Do _I_ know what _I’m_ doing? Do _you_ know what _you’re_ doing?! You, Chanyeol, the regime, the country! _Look at them!_ Look at what you’ve done to them!” he points condemningly to the encased Cyclists in the room. “Look at what you’ve done, to them, to yourselves, to the world! You—you’re going to destroy everything, you’re going to end existence as we know it! _Open your eyes!_ Look at the horror! We’ve messed with the substance of the universe, we’re—we’re playing God! We’re all going to die! Nothing even matters anymore, we’ve killed, we—we’ve erased, we’ve deleted, we—we—”

Minseok catches him as he slips under his grasp and falls over the chair, clutching his chest and shaking furiously. He stares down at the boy who continues his string of curses and grievances.

“Get up,” he orders. “Get up, Taeyong, now.”

“Don’t hurt them,” he cries, pulling himself to sit. “Please. They— _they’re just boys_. They—”

“Taeyong, get up.” Minseok’s hands are in fists, and the rage is as ever the biting chill he remembers it. The boy coughs harshly, drags himself up, and forces his eyes on Minseok’s — they’re dead and empty as holes.

“How can you be so heartless?” he whispers.

Minseok breathes out severely. “Watch yourself. They won’t kill you, Taeyong, but they can hurt you.”

He laughs unkindly. “I’d rather be dead.”

Minseok’s gaze moves to the rows of comatose bodies, confined against the wall. He looks back at Taeyong. “No,” he says. “No, you don’t.”

By winter, the project is thriving, and Chanyeol sets a date for the machines’ first test at the demand of the General, who departs on an impromptu expedition overseas, leaving the man in charge with the council. Minseok stays as close to him as he can, the heavy feeling of dread following him everywhere.

Before the year ends, he visits the dream one last time. The forest is covered in ice. Jongdae walks over from the clearing and buries himself in his arms. They hold each other in the frozen dirt in silence, until Minseok, at the familiarity in his body, falls into a reminiscence again, and he pulls himself up. Jongdae comes and presses his lips to his neck, then his cheek, and Minseok involuntarily flinches away. He looks dejectedly at the beautiful man who stares back at him, eyes sympathetic.

“You remember _him_ ,” he prompts Minseok. “You remember when you tried to help someone. You remember the pain.”

A gun flashes past Minseok’s eyes. He bites his lip and covers his face with his hands. Jongdae spreads his fingers over his, drawing them away.

“I’ll never leave you like that,” he kisses him, once, twice, “I’ll never hurt you,” he kisses Minseok, furiously. _"I'll love you right."_

Minseok feels himself melt, and this time he lets it take over, he will be free — this time _he will thaw out_. Jongdae moves back against the forest and his eyes illuminate with the swirl of colours in the sky.

“Do you want this world?”

“Yes.”

He pulls Minseok against him, hands under his jaw. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.”

“Will you help me?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll help you. I’ll get you out.”

Something hard carves itself behind his eyes. He strains himself to look at the odd object Jongdae suddenly shows him — a capsule kit. It dissolves inside his mind like dust, and he hears in his head what the man needs it to be, the vision, the coming, the _catalyst_. 

“ _Star_ ,” Jongdae whispers, “his Cycle is powerful enough to break me out of the machine. I need him to sing me awake. Find him, save me.” He presses his lips against Minseok’s, “ _I’ll be waiting for you,_ ” and the dream explodes.

Minseok starts when he opens his eyes, wakes to the head of the General’s son in his field of view. Chanyeol’s eye seizes him in the darkness, and Minseok is paralyzed.

“Hyung,” Chanyeol says. “Hyung, I had a nightmare.” He crawls next to Minseok like a child and hides his face in his neck, to Minseok’s absolute shock. When arms wrap around his torso, Minseok finally regains control of his senses, and he grabs onto Chanyeol like the boy will try to kill him. “What are you doing, Chanyeol—”

“It won’t stop spinning,” he murmurs, “The walls are closing in, they’re opening up like mouths, _they’re going to eat me_. Everything is red—the walls, the machine, they’re running after me, the walls—they’re crushing me, I’m going to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Minseok says, rigid. Chanyeol’s fright is creeping inside him. “It’s—it’s just a dream.”

Chanyeol suddenly takes his hand and squeezes, sighing out a drowsy “ _hyung_ ”. Minseok holds his breath and doesn’t move. In the morning, he wakes alone to the light, and Jongdae has been moved to the Interior, set to motion.

Time is running out. _Something_ is coming, Minseok can feel it, and when he comes face with the market worker, the _Cyclist of force_ , he knows it’s ready. Jongdae’s waves are peaking with the unknown source; the country is in danger. Minseok has to get to him before the end of the week, before it’s too late, before Chanyeol drags Kyungsoo with Jongin into the NCT and initiates the wipe. Before that _something_ happens.

The sync with Chanyeol was a failure, but only on the other man’s part: it’s the eyepiece, the _damned_ object that openly brands Chanyeol as the General’s, _owned_ , the spinning device that destroyed his side of the link. But Minseok’s bridge is only burned. He sees and hears and feels Chanyeol but the other man doesn’t, and so he can’t see Jongdae in his head, can’t hear the machinations going on inside his heart. Chanyeol _trusts_ him, he always has, and so he can’t feel the _agony_ in Minseok for what he’ll make himself do—for what he’s about to do. He can't see the shake in his hands, he can't hear the lament in his thoughts — _I'm sorry, I love you_  — he can't feel his heart give. He can’t feel Minseok’s pain, his grief. He can’t feel what Minseok feels, he never will.

 _Forget the time  
B_ _e free_  
_I will pick that dazzling star_  
_and give it to you_

He can’t kill him. He can’t do it.

 

—

 

Kyungsoo is crying. No—it’s wrong, he can’t feel the tears in his eyes; it’s Minseok, slumping against Jongin in front of him who cries. There’s no emotion on his face, and his black eyes are cast down. Jongin looks up at Kyungsoo, worried, sorrowful. He gently raises Minseok on his feet, and Kyungsoo comes to their side.

For a silent moment, none of them move. Then, Kyungoo places a tentative hand on the man’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t think it either — Minseok will feel what he wants him to know. Not apologies, not regrets, because neither of them had anything to do with each other’s lives, not until now, and Kyungsoo can’t accuse Minseok of anything. Because Minseok was without hope, he was _broken_ beyond consolation, compensation—and Jongdae burst out in a dream and showed him something so likely to a _heaven_ that he gave himself up in a second. He gave up everything for the promise of beauty, of happiness, freedom— _at last_. Kyungsoo couldn’t blame him at all.

The man lifts his head and glances slowly between them. He wipes his eyes and then grips both of their arms. Kyungsoo doesn’t even flinch.

“Do not ever,” he swallows hard, breathing out shakily, “stop loving each other.”

Jongin’s eyes soften, and he takes Minseok’s hand in his. Kyungsoo feels their link flood with affection and melancholy, but the channel between him and Minseok is shriveling, fragile with the damage to the man’s mind, his soul. When Kyungsoo drifts to him, he feels heavy with the grief. But he can also sense the steadfast determination, the decision he’s made peace with, _finally_.

“Let’s go,” Kyungsoo pronounces, soothing his hand over the shoulder. “Let’s go save him.”

Minseok nods solemnly, closing and opening his eyes, breathing out. Today is the last, today is the end.

They turn to the elevator, picking up their pace. Minseok ushers them inside before he inputs an authorization sequence on the panel over the bridge. Right as they step onto the platform, Kyungsoo’s channel interrupts with a signalling call. The doors close as he attempts to lock onto the frequency:

“ _—hello! Can anybody hear me?... out—now—!... All units_ …” Baekhyun’s panicked voice erupts in fragments of harsh static. Minseok and Jongin turn to him in alarm.

“Baekhyun?” Kyungsoo calls out. “Baekhyun!”

“ _—the city, now! Evacuate! Everybody evacuate! I repeat—_ ” Jongin stiffens, giving him a frightened look. Minseok’s hand flies to the panel, but it’s too late to halt the elevator. Baekhyun’s shouts grow hysteric: “ _…out! Now…—myeon? Junmyeon, answer me! Junmyeon—answer! Please! Junmyeon_ — _mo—”_

The transmission cuts. The ensuing silence is a dead weight in the small compartment that descends heavily; Kyungsoo heart drops to his stomach. Jongin shudders next to him, pressing close, and Minseok gravely fixes the empty space in front of them. The darkness sweeps over their heads and another sudden feeling, deep and _magnetic_ , pulls them down, a vibration at the tip of their fingers, pulsating in their veins.

"He's here," Minseok whispers drily.

The compartment touches down to the end floor with a deafening sound. The lights shut off with the last of Kyungsoo's channel's power. The doors open with an exhaling hiss, and Minseok's arm immediately crowds Kyungsoo and Jongin back. He turns to them with an examining look, before he cautiously steps out of the elevator.

The room is plunged in a sinister darkness spread out by the flashing, blaring light, tracing the monumental installation at the end of the platform. Jongdae's vault is a configuration of mirrors tilting inside one another, walling in the cell where the Cyclist sleeps. The marking lights change colours and bounce off the glass, hitting each corner of the room, and though almost everything is obscured, Kyungsoo, through Minseok's link, senses Chanyeol at the front of the door. The eyepiece is whirling, cutting the silence—he can hear it spin slow.

When Minseok sees the shadow, Chanyeol's body reflected all around him on the mirrors turning above, he stops in his tracks and pushes his hand back toward Kyungsoo; this isn't his moment to make, this wasn't his fight. Jongin, agitated, reaches past him and latches his hand on the man's wrist. Keeping his eye on the redhead, Minseok advances steadily.

"Chanyeol, you don't have to do this," he says.

Chanyeol steps out of the frames and glares at them, eye in stone and monstrous. There's fury in his expression, but also a nervousness, quieter, thinner in the lines of his face, uneasy. His hands are shaking; Kyungsoo slips his hand to his gun.

"Chanyeol," Minseok pauses, and extends trembling fingers toward him. "Chanyeol. Listen to me, _listen to hyung_. The General's going to use the Cyclist to kill the country. This isn't about the wipe, Chanyeol—he's going to decimate the population. Kyungsoo can help us. He can help _you_. You don't have to hurt them. We can make a better world without this. We can get out together." His voice breaks. "It doesn't have to end like this."

"Doesn't it?" he bites out, and barks out a laugh. Minseok's eyes are filled with tears, and Chanyeol's scornful smile crumbles quickly when he notices them, for the first time. Suddenly, his eye moves to Jongin, then Kyungsoo. He focuses on Kyungsoo for a long time, eyepiece surging up as the silence stretches. When he speaks, it catches them off-guard:

"What do you know about bees?" Jongin's face breaks into utter bewilderment, but Kyungsoo studies Minseok's paling one instead, his dark eyes that widen in dismay.

"Chanyeol—"

"Do you know how they choose their queen?" A frame of blood flickers before his eyes; Kyungsoo jerks back. "The eggs are laid in cups filled with royal jelly, and as soon as they hatch, they have to find all the other princesses, and kill them." He takes a step forward, Minseok shuts his eyes. "Some of them don’t even get to hatch from their cell. The newborns kill them before they even wake up. Their own sisters. And the last one remaining becomes the queen.”

The gruesome images flood from the link: blood, bodies, bones in metal. Kyungsoo's heart lurches and he painfully holds himself up, head throbbing and stomach turned, trying desperately not to vomit, the taste of gore on his tongue. Chanyeol watches him in curiosity and suspicion, and resumes in a cruel tone:

"You'll never know what I've lived through to be here now. I've built the cure to the world, don't any of you see? Can't any of you understand? No, you can't. You're all blind to the truth. This is the future, this is _heaven_. And no one— _no fucking body_ is going to take this from me. No one is going to hurt me ever again." He looks sorely to Minseok, and croaks out: "I'm only going to ask this to Minseok-hyung, once. _Why?_ Why, _my hyung_ , who promised he would _never_ let anybody hurt me."

"Chanyeol, you know that promise was broken the _literal_ _hour_ before we met."

"And yet here I am, and there you are!" Chanyeol yells abruptly. The next second, he wrenches out from his coat the pistol and rivets it onto Minseok, Minseok who anchors himself without delay and urges Jongin off him. Kyungsoo scrambles to find his hand as the two face off once more, staring each other down, only this time Minseok's only defense is his exposed body, and whatever trace of sentiment left between the two men. The link shakes fiercely with the memories. Minseok’s friend failed to kill him when he wanted to die, and now Chanyeol would kill him when he wants to live, more than anything.

"I know you won't shoot me," he cries. "If I can't do it, you can't either."

Chanyeol's erratic breaths fill the droning noise in the room, and he carefully lowers the pistol to Minseok's feet. "I can't." 

He fires onto the platform that cracks around them with a loud siren. The tile where Minseok and Jongin stand alights and brusquely shoots up the vault's level, driving them high up in the room, and stranding Kyungsoo onto the platform with Chanyeol, who stalks forward with absolute composure.

" _Jongin!_ " Kyungsoo screams, watching in horror as the two stumble to the edges. Minseok's frantic shouts echo back, and Jongin's head appears over the slate. "Kyungsoo! _Hyung!_ "

"Look at me," Chanyeol seethes, coming dangerously close, "look at me! It's you—it's always been you. You did this to him. You ruined everything, and I'm going to hurt you, for the last time."

Chanyeol charges as Kyungsoo goes to raise his gun, and he dodges just before the shot tears his chest. Kyungsoo falls to the ground and hurryingly claws his way out of the bullets that percuss the wall. He aims his weapon through the smoke at the floor and shoots, once, twice, until the third one hits the trigger and projects the tile upward, throwing Chanyeol off his feet. Kyungsoo drags himself to the other side before the redhead fires again, and as he trips the gun slips from his grip. When he glances up, the barrel is staring at him and his heart stops, seizing the shape, the hollowness, the hole that will finally kill him—but it stills with the repetitive click of Chanyeol's finger on the trigger, and when the ringing in Kyungsoo's ears mutes out, there's Minseok's voice calling his name above him.

"Kyungsoo! The eyepiece!" Kyungsoo's eyes lock onto Chanyeol's. "The eyepiece! It's a Cycle modulator! You have to get it off his head!"

With a snarl, Chanyeol chucks the empty pistol to the floor. He throws himself onto Kyungsoo who rolls off the tile, where the fists collide with the metal. Kyungsoo's hands lunge for Chanyeol's head and he tosses them over. His fingers dig into the slots of the eyepiece and the man lets out a strident shout, the force fueling him back. He delivers a hard jab to Kyungsoo's side with his elbow, knocking the breath out of his chest. Staggering back, Kyungsoo hears in the space around him Jongin's screams resonating from above.

"Hyung! Hyung! The panel!" He follows Jongin's line of direction to the console beside the vault. When he looks back at Chanyeol, the man has stood up and shucked off his coat. He tears out from his chest pocket a flat wand he wields in front of him with a curt clutch; the bar extends with a thick polished blade that extracts at the edge, sharp like a razor, and the size of an axe. The sear of a slash seizes Kyungsoo's body in an unconscious forewarning. He hastily pulls himself up, and bolts at full speed toward the console, Chanyeol on his heels with a terrible roar ripped out of his throat. Kyungsoo's fingers barely brush the panel before he hears the shrilling swing over his head — the slew of the blade is like a feather's touch, ghosting over his ear. He throws himself to the floor and the sound of crushing steel reverberates in the room.

The vault blares up, and the static spreads out like a wave. With a screech-like reeling sound, the platforms plummet to the floor's level. Minseok shoves Jongin down right before the impact and his body ricochets off the tile as it hits. The link convulses—Jongin's, Minseok's, he doesn't know, he can't stop—every part of Kyungsoo's body rushes up in a frenzy. It shakes, it trembles, the tremor takes over him—his heart pounds like thunder but the rage is stronger, clouds him, _suffocates_ , he can't waste any time. 

Jongin screams his name. Kyungsoo launches himself onto Chanyeol, yanking him off the cleaver lodged inside the sparking console. Kyungsoo drives all the strength he has into his fist and punches him, once, twice, the grind of his knuckles against the metal making him bleed, but the adrenaline is too much, he can't feel the pain. The third blow strikes hard and _full_ at the center of the lens, splitting the frame open. Chanyeol _shrieks_ , and the cry exalts him, is enough to overwhelm his senses, the last of his judgement—he sees red—he _breaks_.   

Kyungsoo twists himself out of the man's grip and his hands reach for the cleaver's handle, hanging off the console. Chanyeol strikes him in the back but he's fully seized the knob; he struggles the redhead backward, and with one powerful swing, beats the cleaver down on the side of his face.

" _Kyungsoo!_ "

The force drives their bodies to the floor, and Kyungsoo's hands numb at the impact's shocks. The blade wedges deep into the eyepiece, cutting almost half-way into Chanyeol's head. The redhead thrashes up, quaking, but his voice is caught in his throat. He gasps and gapes open at Kyungsoo straddling him, fingers still on the cleaver—he's completely _stunned_. 

"Kyungsoo!" He turns just as Jongin freezes, eyeing the scene with alarm, and the link tenses up — he's _afraid_. The drop in his gut is more brutal than all of Chanyeol's blows—the violence falls over him like a condemnation. A mad growl snaps Kyungsoo out of the stupor, and before he can catch his breath, Chanyeol tears out the cleaver from his eye, throws it on the floor, and tackles him to the ground. In between the successive strikes, Kyungsoo catches the horrendous, _haunting_ split-second sight of Chanyeol's face, his bloody fissured eye where the wires split, drip, cut, ripped out and cracking with the sheet of metal under the tear of his skin.

Chanyeol fists his collar and lowers himself, letting the blood and oil dribble on his face. "I'll kill you," he grits out. " _I'll eat you_." Kyungsoo hasn't a second to brace himself, Chanyeol's hand pulls his wrist and the other grabs his elbow — _crrk_. The _scream_ that rips out of his throat is so loud, so long and so hoarse, crying out at the scorching pain spreading to his collarbone and Kyungsoo can't see anymore. He can't breathe. There's an earthquake beneath him, inside him, _he's going to die_.

He's sinking, choking into the deafening whiteness when he feels it, the bloom in his heart, breathing life into his body, pulling him out. There are tears in his eyes when he opens them, and Chanyeol hands are off his throat. As he turns to reach for the cleaver, Minseok runs in and slams him back to the ground. Kyungsoo heaves and coughs blood, rapidly losing grasp on his consciousness. _Jongin, Jongin_ —through the haze he faintly hears the screams, and then there's his touch, the hands diving into his jacket, fumbling, frenzied. The brunet's blurry face is the last thing he sees, before the electricity consumes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say that I thought 'Winter Heat' was the perfect song for this chapter. The song itself really makes me think of ice melting. A lot of the lyrics reflect different parts of the events here and the title itself is like ode to the xiuyeol symbolism. There are also some lyrics from Minseok's 'Beyond' which really moved me, particularly the: gather the feeling of motionless and burn it tonight, because it fit so well with the story idk ;-; as you probably noticed I use member'spowers as weird symbolism like jongin's teleportation as him constantly moving and never being stable, kyungsoo's strength as the grounding ppl and his cycle power, Baekhyun's light as both the hope and excess, junmyeon's water personality and flooding emotions, etc. and the fire/ice dynamic is so rich to write because minseok is frozen over and motionless and chanyeol burns everything in his path..yea............... anyway I love Minseok. and this story is getting too long. so thanks again for tuning in, we're getting there!!!


	11. Lights Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: death and blood

Loving Junmyeon was easy. It’s what Sehun first thought when he met Junmyeon—this polite, pretty man in pink hair and long coats, who took pleasure in the simplicity of his life, who lived freely and without worry — things that were unknown to Sehun. Things he had convinced himself were out of his reach. And Junmyeon, Sehun concluded at first, belonged to those things.

Junmyeon struck him as a pleasant man. He had a lovely smile, bright and sweet, that made his cheeks glow and his eyes screw up in crescents. Sehun was indifferent toward his choice of hair colour but it drew attention to the pink lips, emphasized the contrast with the smoky grey of his eyes. He dressed modishly and always slicked his parted hair sideways. Junmyeon was _properly_ handsome. He was unwaveringly confident and buoyant, and most of all he was full of compassion: he didn’t hold Sehun or Kyungsoo below him for their history and never looked down on them. Junmyeon respected them, for their efforts, and simply because they were human. His mind was as noble as could be—Junmyeon was a free spirit.

So as Sehun became acquainted with the distinguished coordinator, and secretary department later on, he thought, rather selfishly: _there is a man with so much money, looks, and kindness to spare—_ there _is a man who can make others happy._ And Sehun’s grief whispered to him: _Junmyeon can make you happy_.

It was a dishonest choice he’d made, and the fact that he’d _made a choice_ was ill-brought from the start. Sehun believed _he could learn to love someone_ but never even knew himself what he meant, and the harder he tried to understand his intentions, the more he felt lost, because like he predicted: _loving Junmyeon was easy_. Sehun found himself everyday more in the man’s company, crossing paths while spending time with Kyungsoo, meeting at the market between courses, talking fashion over elaborate lunches, late-night outings in his favourite select restaurants… More than often Sehun came back to his laboratory to find on his bench neatly wrapped gift-boxes, left with simple notes in graceful handwriting — _my dear Sehunnie, love, Junmyeon_. Sehun became a part of something, something _personal_ , an intimacy he never prepared for. Before he realized it, the man was everywhere, in his work, in his home, in his closet, in his thoughts. A piece of Junmyeon glued itself in him and he carried it like a trophy. Junmyeon’s heart was a prize he had _earned_ — a reward, a _compensation_ , in a fantasy gone too far.

But Sehun was overwhelmed—his grief was never so satiated. Junmyeon was perfect as much, _too much_ , and had breached past the frame of his dream; they were rapidly growing, changing, soaring up to a place he had never been. He’d lost sight of what was happening. And one birthday night drunk under the thunderstorm Junmyeon stared at him a little too long, and Sehun became scared.

He dared to declare success. He dared to believe it was what he wanted, all along. He tried to rewind their history to point out the exact moment his mind made itself up, but then his heart turned out to have very different plans. Sehun hadn’t reflected on his feelings until it was too late. There was no motive, in the end — only the _guilt_ , so much that it made him go crazy. Had he fallen in love with Junmyeon, or were his original purposes projecting the emotions onto him? It happened — or he made it happen, _he did this to them_.

Junmyeon’s heart had seemed so naïve. Sehun never saw it coming.

When he discovered the channel on Tao’s computer, it was like the end of the world. Sehun had no one to blame for the revelation but himself; it was a _betrayal_ of his own fault—but he couldn’t even call it that because Junmyeon wasn’t responsible for what the regime did to him. _Junmyeon would never hurt me._ Sehun tried to believe it as much as he could, but the grief was stronger, it was always stronger — _he ruined the park, he ruined your heart, he did this to you._

And suddenly loving Junmyeon became the hardest thing. It became the worst thing. He’d forgotten what it was that he was trying to accomplish, because in a second the love he flaunted so freely turned into a _knife_ , and when he felt his heart bleed Sehun _knew_ it was real, that he had fallen in love with Junmyeon, because all his life it was his grief that ruled him, and he would _love_ just the same: in pain and in sacrifice. It was the only thing that he knew to be true — he couldn’t ever deserve Junmyeon.

Sehun cried his heart out that night. He shut himself in his room and cried alone, away in the hours of the night. He cried for long intervals, the hard cry where his breath catches in his throat, and every time it seemed like the calm settled in his chest, the sobs would rack his body like tremors and the flood broke through again. There didn’t seem to be an end to the tears. The grief was choking him, the current was killing him, and Sehun thought that he should die, for what he’d done to them.

“What is it? You don’t like it?” Junmyeon asked him the next cold night of spring.

Sehun said nothing and kept his eyes on the ground. The shiny box was intact with the label clipped on the top, sealed with the ribbon he was careful to tie back as cleanly as possible. Junmyeon had noticed his affinity for bags and gifted him a small suitcase for his needs. He’d been particularly proud of the purchase and seemed like he was having difficulty concealing his hurt.

“What is it you don’t like? The colour? The brand? Is it too small?”

It was singularly perfect, just like Junmyeon— _but not like Suho_. Sehun couldn’t convince himself that he could separate the two and so he wasn’t ready to accept this part of Junmyeon, this second man who lied, hurt, destroyed, _killed_ , and had as many schemes as the General himself. This second man who, Sehun feared, was the _true_ Junmyeon, and that the secretary of the department was instead _the other man_. That Sehun had been caught in some kind of trap, all along.

“I just—don’t want it.”

Junmyeon’s eyes were full of sorrow, Sehun hated himself so much. He cursed the universe with all the voice inside him. It was unbearable to the point where he could’ve confessed right then, and so he hurriedly said something that hurt Junmyeon even more.

“But—but I’ll keep it, for you.”

Junmyeon froze, and his heart broke, it broke in the proper sense of _heartbreak_ because Junmyeon understood in the declaration something entirely different: Sehun wasn’t returning the present, he was giving Junmyeon back his _heart_ , for lack of reciprocity. The panic of trying to figure out _just when Sehun could’ve possibly known_ was quickly overpowered by the awful ache of rejection, but the pain in his chest was twisted because Sehun—kind-hearted and loyal Sehun cared so much for the relationship he’d avowed that he would accept it. _I’ll keep it, for you_ —Junmyeon thought Sehun was making an effort to love him back, that he was given condolence, and _compensation_ for his feelings.

That night, when Junmyeon drove him back to his sector, Sehun watched the motor leave onto the skyway; Junmyeon didn’t go home.

Nothing changed in appearances. They enjoyed each other’s company and their banters were more engaging than ever. Junmyeon’s gift instances decreased, however, and dramatically. In their thoughts it had become a plaint. Behind each word were tense, strained undertones, the ghost of the damage dealt, done. Both acting like nothing ever happened.

Sehun refused to tell Tao or Kyungsoo, who both seemed to have noticed the change, but complied with some reluctance when asked to leave it be. Tao was particularly stubborn and threatened to confront Junmyeon himself about the situation.

“If he hurt you, Sehunnie, I can and _will_ file a report against him. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Sehun replied weakly, curling up against him. _I did_.

Kyungsoo, for his part, was worried about Sehun’s health. “You haven’t been eating.” Sehun’s habit of starving himself when he was upset was never _picked up_ , in a sense, but rather _trained_ inside him in the years of his childhood. It was the familiar ache that reminded him of his place in the world. He wondered how, and what ever Junmyeon did, for his part, to keep it up.

Kyungsoo was in his final year before his institution and had a lot on his schedule; if Junmyeon ever said anything to him, he didn’t tell. He was distracted with work and Sehun reserved himself because he didn’t want to burden him any more with his hardships. “Bad days, hyung.”

“I’m always here for you, Sehun. But do you want to go talk to Junmyeon?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Kyungsoo sighed, told him he knew where to find him, kissed him on the temple, and left him alone.

When Jongin came back, Sehun felt like a boy all over again. He’d grown taller than the brunet, but still felt he was smaller. Jongin was _criminally_ beautiful and Sehun was dutifully charmed. His heart swelled when he noticed immediately, upon reunion, the moment shared between him and Kyungsoo. Sehun knew that look — he recognized its gentleness, its _surprise_.

They were perfect for each other — they were the story he wished he could’ve had with Junmyeon. Sehun thought that he would make them as happy as _they_ could’ve been; he could work his grief for someone’s else love. And so he stopped caring. He crossed the unspoken barrier stressed between him and Junmyeon, freely, without worry. He let himself feel—he let himself breathe. And he knew what he was doing was _evil_ —the looks, the careless words, the reckless touches. He revelled in the distress and the yearning in the man’s eyes when he played — he made it into a game. He trailed his fingers down Junmyeon’s wrist and gazed at him under his eyelashes. He pulled back and rolled onto Jongin’s side, yawning. He was tired—he’d had _enough_. 

“Don’t you think they’re cute, hyung?” Sehun asked him in the motor after they’d dropped off Jongin in his new sector.

Junmyeon stopped at a light and widened his eyes in surprise. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse; the man had been in a strange state of exhaustion for the past few weeks, and it only seemed to be deteriorating each day. Sehun tried to think his actions had no effect on it.

“Who? Kyungsoo and Jongin?” Sehun nodded. “They haven’t seen each other in years. I’m sure they’ve missed each other a lot.”

“Yeah, but, don’t you think they were a _little_ too focused on each other, tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, hyung, they were totally checking each other out.”

Junmyeon chuckled. “All right, maybe a little. But it’s been so long, I’m sure they weren’t expecting to see how they’ve grown. What were they like when you were younger?”

“Well, Jongin was smaller, and his hair was darker, too. Kyungsoo looked the same.”

“You’ve spent all these years with Kyungsoo, of course it looks like he hasn’t changed!”

“No, no—hyung, really!” Sehun insisted to Junmyeon’s laughter. “He really looks the same. Like—his eyes. And his lips—his heart-shaped lips.” Sehun squeezed his own cheeks with his hand and turned to Junmyeon to show him.

“Yes, right, right.” The man’s eyes were set on the lights in front of him and Sehun suddenly brought his other hand to his face. Junmyeon was caught off guard as the crease settled under his chin, and his breath hitched when Sehun’s fingers pressed on his cheek, thumb resting on the other side on his jaw. There was a second of rigid nervousness in his expression before he snapped upright, grabbed Sehun’s hand, and pushed it off.

Sehun was startled by the abruptness of the scene, but also by the intensity in which Junmyeon reacted. He watched, absorbed, the constriction of his throat as he gulped, the repeated splay of his fingers on the wheel, tightening, the deep, quiet breath he took as he straightened himself in his seat. His glazed-over eyes, avoiding Sehun’s for the rest of the night. The behavior troubled Sehun, who had never seen him so anxious—worked up—scared— _aroused_.

This singular occurrence turned out to be the last calm before the storm. The institution night passed in an utter dissatisfaction. Junmyeon wouldn’t even look him in the eye. Sehun had the thought of drinking his courage up cross his mind, but he knew that if he came onto Junmyeon that way the man would surely never speak to him again. The nights were torture, and Sehun was _so hungry_.

Finally, when the market plaza was bombarded, he couldn’t take it anymore. Seoul-D’s violence followed him to the end; Junmyeon had stolen the last of his peace. He’d hurt his work, and he hurt Kyungsoo and Jongin, worst of all. They couldn’t live like this anymore. When came the sunny afternoon he called to meet him at the café, Sehun knew he had to end this, _end them_ , once and for all. He didn’t care what would happen to them, even if his life died he would take Junmyeon, and the dream with him. This was all they were, he believed: bound to crash and burn, a _fatality_ — this was all they deserved to be.

To say he was wrong was to say the least, because when Sehun saw Junmyeon, saw his miserable face and beaten body against the city’s skyline on the rooftop restaurant, he was submerged by the heavy feeling in his heart, the same adoration that brought him first to Junmyeon. This was his _friend_ , who loved them, and had given up so much for them. The passionate man who took care of Kyungsoo and Sehun like no one else, he was the _family_ they thought they’d lost so long ago. _Junmyeon would never do this to them_.

Sehun knew what Junmyeon was going to tell him, but he needed the man to know that no matter who he was, and what he did, he was still their own—he was still their _hyung_.

Junmyeon looked as if he had been shot.

EXO was imagined by Sehun as a kind of association, a guild of the elite, operating completely in secrecy and mystery. It was more the likes of a _kingdom_ , a vast network of strangers of all backgrounds that spread everywhere in the country, and even over the borders. A clandestine society, of bodies and weapons, assembled underground, and _Suho_ , on the throne. It was a moving cacophony and Sehun found himself in the middle of the noise.

Junmyeon’s voice was good, but it was odd. It was— _seducing_ , somewhat, Sehun felt its appeal like everyone else, but he could also hear another sound, deep in his throat, laid out in the soothing notes of Junmyeon’s _song_. It was something of a naturality in excess, and so it sounded strained. It was too smooth to the ear. Sehun couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Junmyeon used to prompt him to sing; he was unsubtle with his attempts at dissimulating his interest in Sehun’s voice, but the younger had found it endearing. Now, Sehun felt deceived, and exposed. He gave himself to Junmyeon, to EXO, he gave himself back to the war, the bloodshed he swore he’d never see again. The ending he envisaged was impossible; he was a part of Suho’s life as much as a part of Junmyeon’s, and EXO, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. There was no life outside the madness and the horror. How could he have ever thought that he could be happy, with Junmyeon, with his work? How could he have imagined a peace to last him the rest of his life? Sehun was the regime’s property, the War _owned_ him. He would never be free.

“I love him,” he cried into Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “I love him so much.”

When Sehun met Yixing, he was a little overcome. The man was only a couple centimeters shorter than him, and while his face was attractive and full of calmness, he had an air of dominance around him, with his keen teal eyes, sharp jaw, and broad frame — Sehun was intimidated. The fact that the doctor seemed so at ease with the conversation gave the impression of control even more. Kyungsoo didn’t seem to notice past the charming smile and good manners, but Sehun saw the motif in his character, he felt the suggestion of force, and he was sure that Junmyeon knew it as well.

Sehun found himself very drawn to Yixing, and the contrast between his personality and Junmyeon’s was compelling. Yixing held his hand and talked to him about his Cycle and his _song_ , talked about _balance_ , things Sehun only knew in his trauma, things he identified to Kyungsoo and his soft voice under the stars, the nights on fire — things Sehun wasn’t sure he could put to service. Junmyeon watched them jealously, and with regret.

“He talks a lot about you,” Yixing said, eyes soft and smiling. He was judging something. “I’m happy we finally meet.”

The doctor never left his side. When Sehun woke in the meadow, Yixing’s voice surrounded him first. The network, contrary to all of _Star_ ’s affirmations, seemed purely natural, more _organic_ than anything Sehun had seen in his life. The plains were flourishing with colours, and the wind warped the fields in long stripes, carrying with Yixing’s voice Sehun’s own body, embraced by the fluttering herbs and flowers. If there was a kind of paradise he could make, this was it. It was a piece, a literal peace of mind.

Sehun marched forward in the dream, breathing in the air and tasting the sunlight, he didn’t know if any of it was real but it felt _so good_ , so warm, so _free_ he forgot where and when the world was. But when he reached the top of the hill he saw over the next a figure standing motionless on the field. It was a man—no, a _boy_ , a young boy dressed in white with something on his neck. He wasn’t looking anywhere, but when Sehun saw him, he felt that the boy had caught him as well, and it gave him a deep sense of unease—he was instantly filled with dread. Sehun took a step back, and when he blinked, the boy was right in his face. There was barely anytime to react before hands lunged at his throat, and a wide, hollow mouth moved everywhere in his sight.

 _“Don’t go!”_ he wailed terribly. The boy threw him back and forth, his grip multiplied, fingers and hands and eyes and mouths, tens of _mouths_ surrounding him, chasing him with a horrible sound and Sehun started to scream as well. The boys hounded him like dogs, climbing over his shaking body.

_“Don’t go!”_

_“Don’t leave me! Please!”_

_“Come back!”_

Sehun couldn’t shut his eyes. He kept screaming and thrashed against them, crying out for help. On the other side of the hill he saw Kyungsoo, in his childhood, dragged through the dirt and up a rig, to be thrown in the yard and blown up with the buildings. Jongin was running toward him, but there was danger alerting his thoughts. He screamed even louder, and fought savagely. The sun and the wind never wavered. It wasn’t until interminable minutes when he felt a cold spike in his neck that he woke up again, flailing in Yixing’s arms, shrieking, crying. The perimeter was full of blood — Kyungsoo and Jongin were gone.

Junmyeon threw his arms over his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” but Sehun couldn’t hear it. There were only the boys’ screams, their pleading calls for help. He had to go free them — he had to get their voices out of his head.

“Left,” he begged. “Please.”

The room was wide, bright, and full of cameras. At the end stood a vault, and Sehun heard the whispers in his head grow louder, turning into shouts. The shrill ringing cut off the channels; he watched in panic as Junmyeon in front of him approached the door. It opened before he could touch it, and there appeared a young man in chains, eyes wide and red with tears, bruised face smeared with blood and spit, his blackening neck trapped in a metal collar, and a swallow-bomb locked in the center of his chest—one second counting down.

Sehun’s body stopped dead, to his ultimate horror. But in the last moment Yixing sprung forward and grabbed Junmyeon, his calm face was twisted in something Sehun had never witnessed before—it was the last thing he thought he’d see, this singular, finishing, intimate communication between the two men, the shared look full of raw emotion, of _history_. Yixing and Junmyeon locked eyes as it was the last of them, and Sehun, heartbroken and defeated, just had the final millisecond to feel like an _intruder_ , before the man in the vault screamed and everything went white.

 

_“Hyung?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Will you stay with me?”_

_“Always, Sehun-ah.”_

 

He’s waiting to die. He knows it. Why else would time come against him, why else would it keep him in a loop of suffering, only as to prolong the torture? There doesn’t seem to be an end to it; the world won’t stop until he’s dead. And it’s going to kill everything around him before he will be allowed to die. He’s going to feel the earth’s murder in his head.

If Sehun never pushed Kyungsoo that night at the market, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe he wants a different beginning, and maybe he doesn’t want a beginning at all. _And maybe if I never met Kyungsoo_ , he thinks, _and maybe if I was never born…_

“Are you OK?” Junmyeon asks, voice broken, in the passenger seat.

Sehun glances up at him. Tao, at the wheel, throws Sehun a bothered look, understood silently between them. Further ahead, the path closes up; they’re almost there.

He opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Yixing, at his side, stares quietly between him and Junmyeon. Sehun still sees them together, their image in front of the vault burned in his eyes, the awful, cruel, crazy look. Yixing raises his arm, relaxed, and wraps it behind Sehun’s back against the seat. Something shifts in Junmyeon’s gaze at the move, and it prompts Sehun forward, fuels his grief, drives the _spite_ out. He makes sure to lock eyes with Junmyeon as he leans back against Yixing’s arm. His smile is tight, and his face is breaking apart.

The tracker on the motor’s panel blinks in signal as they exit the circuit. Junmyeon, expressionless, turns back to the track and activates his channel. Sehun presses on his own and raises the volume dial until he can’t hear the droning in the tunnel. It rings, and he sings in his head with the pitched static of the frequency, as they plunge into the darkness.

 _I wanna go_  
_We don’t have to hurry_  
_It’s already so far away_  
_I won’t lose my way_  
_Tell me slowly_  
_Don’t think about our freedom_  
_I became exhausted with the meaningless words_  
_Telling lies to one another_

 _It’s beautiful_  
_Something beautiful_  
_We aren’t changing_

 

—

 

The ruins are gone. Vapor drowns the open room, shrouds the ink-black sky encompassing the platform, spreading out, stretching to the end of space. Kyungsoo wakes to the slight sound of muted bells, and the cracking of fire. His heart is stammering. The network’s orbit is penetrating his numb body, pulling him apart.

Jongdae stands in front of him, expression grim, the pearls trailing his cheeks melting over his gaunt face, his hollow eyes, blemished under the lids, his cracking lips, and jaw hung rigid—nothing of the ethereal beauty Kyungsoo’s admired before.

 _Where are we?_ His voice is like an echo striking the weightless air. The black soil under him shivers.

 _I barely have a minute_ , Jongdae interrupts, stumbling over, _please listen to me._

The sky starts to jut out, resembling a sheet of sharp black crystals gyrating around the platform. Starlight pours in, transforming the area into a kind of cosmic simulation. Kyungsoo feels like a floating stone. _What did you do?_

 _It’s what you did_. _I’ve told you cycles are like sleep cycles. And like them, they have stages. Levels inside the structure. This… should be the last level._

Jongdae looks down. Kyungsoo’s eyes lower to his hands; he phases, in and out, of a childlike body that seems familiar. _We’re…_

 _We are in a sub-cycle_ , he croaks. _This is what happens when you cycle with someone who is already cycling. Kyungsoo…_ Jongdae makes a reach forward, but stops himself. His eyes are apathetic, but there’s something else, shifting behind them. _This level, it’s an extremely unstable state of the mind. And it’s dangerous, now._

Kyungsoo turns back to him. _Why… what’s going on?_

 _Please hear me. My waves—they’ve peaked. The machine has been engaged. If I don’t wake up now, I will unleash my Cycle on the city; I_ will _kill people._

 _Wake up, then_ , Kyungsoo says, swallowing drily. His throat, his head, his heart—everything shakes. _Wake up, Jongdae._

 _I will_ , he answers calmly. _I will._ _But that’s not what’s going on._

The ground starts to vibrate, and the charge surges up his body in creeping waves. Kyungsoo feels the fear rise. _What?_

 _I will wake up._ Jongdae’s hands slip to his throat. _But when I do… when I break out of the sub-cycle, when I break out of the machine—there will be a quantity of energy that I won’t be able to absorb._

He breathes out, trembling. Somehow, Kyungsoo already knows what he’s going to say. It’s in his cold eyes, the line of his mouth, the ugly strain in his expression, rotting, _rotting_ — Jongdae’s own gravely sight betrays his words.

_This wave… I won’t be able to hold it. It’s going to hit at least the entirety of the underground compound._

The platform bursts up with a tremor. Kyungsoo holds his breath as Jongdae raises himself, and stares straight into his eyes.

_Kyungsoo. This charge… it’s going to obliterate your cycles—it’s going to kill you._

—

 

The look. Unblinking, unmoving, wide-eyed, endless, _agonizing_ ; the look is urgent, fervent, hopeless, it’s desperate, brutal, _unforgiving_ —a cruel image beyond Sehun’s memory of death, the horrifying nightmare before the revival, and when he thinks about his death he sees it again like a curse, the two heads turned each other’s way, the silent words exchanged like a promise. It’s a _violence_ , it’s a _punishment_ of his own mistakes but it’s them, it’s _him_ , it’s _you, it’s you—it’s you!_

Tao parks the motor outside the central sector’s room. Sehun watches as he types into the panel, slow, fast, stopping, going—again, again. His eyes move to Junmyeon and Yixing, hovering over the city’s control frame, the small machine that controls Seoul-D, the _thing_ —scraps of metal and wires that keep the current rushing, this single cubicle that has driven countless lives to their end.

_Kill it. Kill it!_

Voices, again. Voices everywhere around him. Tao’s headphones chime. 3. 2. 1. The sequence activates, numbers plunging through the screen—the siren is activating. Junmyeon says something but it’s lost inside the white noise, static and screams.

 _Help_ , comes the call. _Help_ —someone is calling _mother_. Sehun turns to the entry gate at the end of the room. Shadows blur inside the disappearing path, stirring up with the fury, the uproar in his head.

Flowers and grass, in the field. The sun is out in the room, melting the metal. _Help us, please_ , they plead.

 _I’ll help you_ , Sehun answers, heart racing, breathless, shaking. _Kill it! Kill it!_ Junmyeon, Kyungsoo, Jongin, Seoul-D, _the world_ —his life is over, there’s nothing left for him but _murder_ , now. But—no— _the boys_. The eyes and mouths and hands scrambling over his body, the pieces he must pick, limbs he must mend, skin, bones—blood, sweat, and tears he must repay. He will be forgiven, _he will be free!_

He strides toward the gate. _I’m coming. I’ll get you. I’ll save you!_

“Sehun? Sehun, don’t—!” Junmyeon exclaims. Sehun crosses the gate and returns to the vault, Junmyeon’s cries echoing behind him. Then, a _jarring_ noise, deafening, blasting louder and deeper than a bomb; the siren blares out and the lights shut off, but Sehun can still see the sun, the shadows churning against the wall, turning up, breaking apart— _the walls are moving_.

“ _Sehun!_ ” Tao screams. Junmyeon leaps toward the gate but it’s too late; the ground below Sehun shifts and he falls. It’s screeching, spinning, _the earth is coming apart_ , twisting open, and comes out of the depths of pitless hell, rising, swelling, a shining monster that blinks at him with a bright red eye. The shadows have crowded the room that is no more; each corner of the walls and floors start to break and form into the massive automatons, an amalgam of polished junk, shards and wires and circuit plates, flattened into a mechanical creature full of arms. Sehun stares up at the droid that locks onto his slumped body.

“ _Sehun!_ ” Junmyeon shrieks. He bolts straight over the side of the room, but the moment he crosses the frame he’s hit back with a shocking pressure. The line below him glares bright silver with the magnetic force of a radiation field. Junmyeon staggers back, vision blackened, sickness rising up his chest. He catches sight of Sehun on the other side, throwing himself under the droid, and jumping over the blocks on the floor that blow out. The vault suddenly splits back, pushing up with the rapidly crumbling walls, and the entire sector rises up.

“Junmyeon! Fuck—hey, no!” Yixing springs back as Tao’s motor sinks back against the entrance, carrying him away with the tumbling floor. The man is jerking the gears back and forth and screaming frantically: “Fuck! Go! Go! Yixing! _Let go_ —get out!” As the wall starts to flip onto him, he swipes a three-digit code into the emergency sequence, and tears Yixing off the compartment. “ _Get the fuck out!_ ”

The motor hisses loudly, and the middle shoots out a lightline, breaking the vehicle in half. With the decreased weight, Tao hurls his body forward, bouncing his part of the motor off. The other half drops to Yixing’s feet, the control panel switching to _steer_. Each of the wheels realign and reengage; he watches, horrified, as Tao climbs onto the converted motorbike and drives into the vortex of debris, swallowing his figure like a storm.

“ _Tao!_ Tao— _fuck!_ ” Yixing whips his head back to the room. Junmyeon is getting up again, and he sees Sehun sprinting to the end of the vault, reaching to grab at the barrier. The next second, the roof swirls open like the lens of a camera, and what’s rest of the sector walls collapse onto them. Droids speed onto the vault and lock themselves at its base—Yixing sees the wheels gyrate horizontally and thin themselves into a pierced disc. Sehun’s leg hangs from the vault’s step, and he doesn’t have enough time to pull himself up as the droids fasten themselves on the threshold, the bulging cubes crushing him against the metal. Sehun’s mouth is open, his face twisted in agony but it’s Junmyeon who screams first, and Yixing realizes he can’t hear Sehun at all on the other side of the radiation field.

 _Hyung_ , Yixing makes out from his bloody lips. _Hyung_.

Junmyeon is on his feet at once and, to Yixing’s absolute shock, tackles the safeguard again. The impact is far more brutal this time, but he doesn’t relent; without sparing a second, Junmyeon launches himself and hits the field once, twice, until Yixing is running to his side and catches him with his arms, dragging him back.

“Stop! Junmyeon—stop! Junmyeon—you’ll kill yourself!” Junmyeon is screaming furiously, kicking and shaking, and Yixing’s hand cards its way to the man’s jaw, locking on tightly. “Hey—hey! Junmyeon! Junmyeon!”

A big slab of waste hurtles beside them, and they fall to the ground. Through the smoke and flames, Yixing barely makes out the shape of the vault being swept away with the droids, Sehun gone. Debris falls over them like rain; Yixing painfully pulls himself up and prods the floor to find Junmyeon’s body. The man is writhing on his side, and when Yixing yanks him onto his knees, a gush of blood spurts out of his mouth. Yixing’s heart stops dead as Junmyeon lurches forward—he hauls him by the waist and hurriedly tows him to the motorbike standing-by. He reverses the vehicle and throws Junmyeon in the backseat, before he strides over the front and, without looking back, charges straight into the wreckage.

He ducks his head and hangs onto the lifts on the panel’s sides. The ground beneath is ascending at increasing speed, and Yixing presses left and right on the screen to swerve, coursing through the crashing metal. The siren grows louder as he approaches the end of the circuit, and the light at the opening becomes visible after a particularly perilous jump. Yixing swings the lift and races up the track, and it’s close, _so close_ , he has to make it, he has to get them out—but the last of the sector’s structure is falling over them and the light begins to shrink drastically, smaller, smaller, and smaller.

The noise rings out. Yixing’s eyes are wide and quivering, watching the opening back away into a hole. The motorbike goes into overdrive and he dives, unfeeling, past the whirlwind.

 

—

 

Before, Kyungsoo had thought he would die. All his life, ever since he was a boy, the terror followed him, death had its print on him. Kyungsoo always found himself back toward it, running away, screaming into the emptiness. He’s made face at fire and guns, he’s made face at the night sky burning, he’s made face at himself on white marble, hoping to stop time, to save himself. And Kyungsoo thinks he never made face at death itself, until now—because _now_ , the Cyclist stands in front of him with his dark eyes, sculpted face, and blank expression, and Kyungsoo thinks fate has led him here at last, to give himself to the man who will kill him, _finally_. Jongdae is his death, and Kyungsoo will become Jongdae’s resurrection. They will be his rebirth.

 _But… there’s something else_ , the man says suddenly. The heavy, angry, anxious feeling in Kyungsoo’s chest dissipates through his body. Jongdae closes his eyes and lowers his head.

_There’s a way to resist the charge. To cut back its power—enough to survive it. Because cycles are susceptible to each other’s influence, another Cycle’s motion should counter it. And so… only if your Cycle is in motion, only if you are truly asleep, then… then you can survive it._

Kyungsoo starts up, blood freezing, surging, his body bursting in frenzy.

 _T—then that’s fine, right? It’s OK—it’s fine, we’re asleep, we’re asleep, Jongin—_ Because that’s the devastating truth; Jongin was going to die, they were going to be _murdered_ , finished at last. Jongdae was going to kill them. _No—we’re fine—it’s fine—_

Jongdae shakes his head. _No. No, listen. He’s not asleep._ You’re _cycling him, and Minseok, and Chanyeol, they’re not asleep for real—_

 _No,_ Kyungsoo cries. _No! no—I—_

_They’re not asleep, Kyungsoo. Only you are._

The thunder strikes trough the network, directly inside them. It passes like a breeze. Jongdae slowly opens his eyes again, and they’ve regained some of their glint, some of his sympathy—the Cyclist looks human for a few moments.

_I’m sorry. I really am._

The starlight begins to glow red. Jongdae takes a sharp breath and tosses himself back; the platform sways with him, time is running out. But Kyungsoo is elsewhere, now, because he remembers. He remembers, the orbits of time and space, the canvas of the universe spread out before him. He remembers and knows there’s nothing to behold, nothing worth remembering of his Cycle’s history. Because _his_ history, in his life, he remembers Jongin, he remembers Kai, he remembers what his heart beats for, what he loves and lost and loves again, what he will love, until the end of the world, until the day he dies.

Kyungsoo remembers, and he remembers the tranquilizer, in his jacket.

_Jongdae—5 seconds._

The man stops, blinks in surprise. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

 _Can you hold it?_ Kyungsoo asks him, voice empty. _Can you hold your wave?_

Jongdae almost looks affronted. _Kyungsoo, this—I don’t—I’m not sure I can even manage 3—_

 _Please, just, please try. 5 seconds,_ he says. _5 seconds is all I need. Please—I’m begging you._

The vapor spirals down with the inky colours of the dream; time’s up. And Kyungsoo, while he knows what’s going to come, finds himself more calm than ever. Jongdae, for his part, seems troubled, remorseful, and more miserable than he’s ever seen him.

_Are you sure?_

Jongdae will blink out before Kyungsoo can answer, but it won’t matter. He will pray one last time for strength — he will speak, one last time, and no one will need to hear, the vows in his heart. And after, everything will finally drain from him—this is what it must be, to feel at peace. This must be freedom, although bittersweet.

The starlight glares bright. It hurts his eyes, but the sight is glory, and bliss.

 _I’ll be by your side,_ he sings, _for life._

_I love you._

—

 

The gray ceiling of the chamber frames itself in his field of view. With all the power in his body, Kyungsoo pulls himself up, dragging his broken arm, and wrenches out of his jacket the tranquilizer. Minseok lies next to him, Jongin at his side. As he falls over Jongin’s body, the brunet’s hands suddenly catch his wrist, and Kyungsoo finds himself staring into the pair of stormy, strained eyes.

“Jongin—”

“I’m not letting you kill yourself, Kyungsoo—”

The link doesn’t move. The air is tearing, and Kyungsoo feels his heart about to burst. Jongin’s eyes dart beside them, then back up at him. In one fluid motion, he rolls them over, wringing Kyungsoo’s struggling arm down; the tranquilizer’s key digs into Minseok’s temple, and Kyungsoo presses.

 

The song reverberates inside the chamber, where the four bodies lie. Two of them cradle each other, hands and heads joined, at rest.

 


	12. Universe

_And I know it’s true_  
_That visions are seldom what they seem_  
_But if I know you_  
_I know what you’ll do_  
_You’ll love me at once_  
_The way you did once_  
_Upon a dream_

— Sleeping Beauty, 1959

 

There’s the faint ringing of a siren before he wakes. Minseok’s body aches and shivers, a deadened weight against the fuming floor. White smoke clouds the room; he watches, sedated, the patterns stir and blend over the ceiling, embracing, releasing. For long moments Minseok gazes, unblinking, unmoving, the grievous feeling in his heart more heavy than the world, and he knows, already, that the smoke above him won’t turn into the pink mist, that the metal beneath his hardened hands won’t smooth into grass and roots — that the dream is long gone, and what fades in his mind now are the last traces of a song, a broken voice, and enduring most, a whispered love.

The siren calls for him now — he can’t keep counting forever. Breathing slowly, Minseok drags himself onto his knees, and looks. Chanyeol lies in front of him, black coat twisted down his spread arms, red head lolling back on a stain of oil and blood, neck laid bare, out, open, a body dumped on the floor. The tremor that wrecks through Minseok is violent, and uncontrollable. His knee slumps forward, then the other, and hastily he grovels to the boy’s head.

Shaking hands cup the marred face, turning it up; Chanyeol’s gray eye is half-opened, obscured by his hair and the dislodged silver of the eyepiece, broken, stilled at last. Minseok calls his name, but it’s hopeless, pointless. His cold hands are in fists under Chanyeol’s shoulders, and he pulls him against his chest. He calls again. Once, twice. Nothing. His choked-out breath buries into the boy’s neck, and Minseok finally cries to him, low and quiet. Hiccups and sobs fill the chamber with the vault’s siren, but the sound in Minseok’s heart and head mutes out because they’re not of any kindness, and that—warmth, _tenderness_ , is what they lack forever now, is what Minseok demands and Chanyeol _needs_ ; mercy, justness, some kind of bearing _grace_ to save him, to make his body decent. To make him look at rest, and _human_ , just somewhat, among the ruin.

The pulsing in his head subsides, the tranquilizer’s high wasted at last. Minseok’s vision focuses and he takes in the sight of the two other bodies on the floor. Jongin’s jaw rests against Kyungsoo’s shoulder, the elder’s head arched down to meet his. Limbs entwined, crossed, buried under one another— _I love you_ , he heard inside of him, and Minseok can’t, _won’t_ touch them.

He turns to the vault. The sacrifice he’d made waits inside, awake. His body goes listless. He wipes Chanyeol’s face, and with a last soft touch to close his eye, lays the boy on the ground, placing his arms at his sides. He waits, for a few seconds, gathering what’s left of his courage, of his heart. He stands up painfully, legs numb and heavy, and staggers toward the door.

The panel is sliced open and inactive. Minseok’s eyes move upward and he catches sight of a casing above the controls. His hand crawls on it, and he opens the frame to find inside a little hole, no bigger than the size of a cherry pit. The shape is thin and round, innocuous enough, but the image triggers something in the remains of Kyungsoo’s link. The key. _Minseok_.

He glances down at the lanyard around his neck. With trembling fingers, he picks up the swivel, and raises it up to the lock’s level. The shapes meet and couple—it’s unthinkable. Holding his breath, he pushes it forward, and the ring inserts with a click, surging up with light. The door whirrs; he is the last resort, the _failsafe_ —and that does it. “Oh, _Chanyeol_.” The last of Minseok’s strength crumbles with his resolve, and he buries his head in his hands, falls to his knees.

Light travels inside the chamber. The first thing he sees is the floating bed at the center, and Jongdae’s familiar body resting atop. The collar on his neck is inoperative, burnt around the brink. Minseok slumps over the edge, eyes wandering over Jongdae’s ashen face, tranquil, but worn. To see him now, in flesh and matter, a dream incarnated and attained at last, disrupts the entire impression Minseok built of Jongdae, the beautiful, _divine_ apparition, and he could have never prepared himself to face this troubled feeling, this clashing sense of failure, and _deception_.

Minseok drops his head, and he brings his mouth to Jongdae’s. The man stirs slightly, and when Minseok shudders, sobbing, tense hands run up his neck to the back of his head, drawing him closer. Jongdae kisses him deeply, sighing hot breaths into his mouth, and Minseok cries, helpless, defeated. He sees, when Jongdae pulls back, the wetness under his cheeks, his half-lidded eyes deep like the groves in the forest, staring hard into Minseok’s.

“You’re here,” he whispers almost like a question, voice soft, yet formidably sound. He touches, unreserved, Minseok’s cheek, feeling skin, feeling _another_ , for the first time in years. “We have to go.”

Minseok’s heartbeat falters when Jongdae takes his hand, and he helps him off the bed. The man stumbles to his feet, working his balance. Jongdae looks up and down at his grown body, spreading his long fingers, blinking quickly. Breathing, moving, speaking; he’s here and he’s alive, and yet the look he bears into himself is crazed, _mad_. Like Minseok, there was a suspended disbelief that he would succeed, that he would ever be freed, and walk to see the sun once more.

Their hands slip apart. As they step back into the chamber, Minseok’s eyes fall on Chanyeol again, and he feels the floor start to vibrate. Jongdae doesn’t spare them a glance and turns, but Minseok’s heart is bleeding, screaming at him—is this how it ends? After years of growing numb, is this how he frees himself from the boy at last, abandoning him in the depths of the earth? Is he at fault, for Chanyeol’s fate, for Kyungsoo and Jongin’s sacrifice? The tears are rising again—he can’t take it, he can’t give in yet.

Jongdae sees him remain rooted by the redhead. “Minseok. We need to go, now.”

“I—” the words are strangled in his throat, and he can’t breathe, “I—we—we can’t just leave them like this—”

A hollow boom resonates from afar, shaking the chamber. Minseok freezes, and fear takes over him instantly. Expression hardening, Jongdae strides toward him and takes his arm. “Listen to me. This place is going to collapse, Minseok—I can feel it. Something is coming. We need to leave, I’m sorry—”

“ _No_ —please, you— _can’t you—_ ” The man’s eyes widen and Minseok brusquely pulls back. He looks at Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, and Jongin at their feet. His voice is full of misery when he speaks again.

“Can’t you… can’t you do something?”

Another blast, and the walls are turning. Nothing shifts in Jongdae’s exhausted face, but it’s in his unresponsiveness that comes the answer. His eyes are examining them idly, wary, _mistrustful_ , and Minseok feels that something has been eluded, that the Cyclist in front of him isn’t at all the man he loved in his dreams.

The elevator makes a shrill sound, and the screens start to disassemble. As the surface opens inside, the rest of the room begins to cave in — they’ll be buried in less than a minute. Jongdae’s look is somber, piercing. He takes a step forward, and Minseok startles when he opens his mouth.

“ _Above the gray city_ ,” he turns around, “ _the sky is coloured in golden sun_.” He walks toward the broken passage, his melodious voice echoing behind him, into Minseok. The Cycle’s wave is horribly jarring, and he senses something of another force, more violent than anything, lift the air around him.

“ _I fly the switched night and days_ ,” Jongdae runs inside, “ _awakening the dusty dreams_.”

The chamber starts to rise. Terror overcomes him, and Minseok knows his time is up. He looks down despairingly, one last time, shuts his eyes on the memory, and while the room calls out and everything inside him protests, he races out, following Jongdae’s music through the havoc.

_See the space between  
in front of the dead end_

Darkness engulfs the circuit, enveloping Minseok immediately. His legs push forward until he feels them burn. One last run. One last chase to end it all, one last race against Seoul-D collapsing behind him. The world is ending with bodies and metal—this is what he wanted, after all— _this is the last time_ and so Minseok runs, furious and crying, past the destruction that opens and gives way.

_Untie your hands and run  
away_

_These will be the years_  
_These will be the years_  
_The lights will all appear_  
_These will be the years_

Jongdae’s figure reappears among the shadows ahead. Minseok drives himself faster as the final note of his song stretches, increasing, elevating, _ascending_ — the maze rises, struck with the sound, walls and floors hunting them to the surface. The song is _sublime_ , and Minseok feels something burst in his chest. He runs in a kind of misplaced euphoria for what feels like hours, tracking Jongdae’s body bolting in front of him, averting the falling debris, the bundles of metal sprouting from all sides, speeding after them.

When the air becomes light, Minseok sees him crouched at the end of the perimeter, where the first elevator stands-by. Minseok glimpses back; red sparks blow around him, closing in rapidly. He throws himself onto the panel and punches the sequence. Hands grab at his legs—Minseok hoists Jongdae up and pushes them inside. The doors close on the brutal noise of churning metal, and the hideous sight of drones climbing atop each other, arms convulsing, making a reach for the compartment.

Their harsh breaths fill the ride. Minseok collapses on the floor, gasping and shaking. Jongdae coughs at his side, eyes barely open. His hands claw weakly at the ring constricting his neck, and Minseok, dismayed, makes a last effort to help him pry it off. Jongdae’s arms lock around him and he holds them close, pressed into each other’s necks, mouths, until the elevator slows to a stop and Minseok’s heart jounces. The doors slide open, hissing smoke and water. He pulls Jongdae’s arm over him and drags them toward the clearing.

The sun is out, the wind is fierce, and the first thing Minseok hears is a sharp whirring in the distance — a black rotorcraft steadily lowers itself onto the white grounds. Jongdae tugs at his side, motioning with his head toward the center. In the middle of the wreckage and scattered bodies lies _Star_ , sunlight pouring over his shiny hair. The hangar disintegrating behind them, the rotorcraft approaches, and Minseok hurries to him. He turns the man on his side, fingers crowding under his collar, searching for a pulse.

Jongdae stumbles next to them and shouts over the juddering of the propellers. “He’s still breathing.” Minseok looks up at him, then over to the transport’s door, opening loudly. It’s empty where he peeks inside, but he identifies the two unmistakable cut sheets of wings, _Bulletproof_ ’s emblem.

“ _Hello?_ ” comes the distorted voice through the recorder. “ _Star_ , it’s RM. Can you copy?”

Minseok makes a quick slicing motion with his fingers toward the door. Unconcerned, Jongdae climbs over the step and into the compartment. He lays out his arm toward Minseok, staring blankly down at him. The storm forms over the hangar, but his gaze never breaks away once.

_Star_ suddenly stirs beneath him, silver eyes opening and fingers grasping at his chest. His lips move, and Minseok isn’t sure if the word he’s reading is correct— _move. Mom._

“ _Bring him up. Now_.”

With Jongdae’s help, Minseok hauls him through the frame. The earth is quaking hard now, and he almost falls forward when the rotorcraft abruptly lifts, alarm beeping urgently. He can hear, at his back, the ground rumbling, splitting apart in a thunderous noise. With a last push he clambers up the step, dropping his weight onto the platform. Jongdae swings the door back, sealing them in the dimmed compartment, and he sinks to his knees, knocking against _Star_.

The rotorcraft soars in the air, and through the window Minseok watches the front grow smaller and smaller. Drones shoot out of the ground, charging all over the place. He faintly hears the emergency siren’s echo, caught between an awful shredding noise. All the sectors below them are up in smoke—the city is falling apart. It's not horror that falls over Minseok, but rather a coldness, sinking him into a torpid state. There’s a second where he searches for _Bulletproof_ ’s communication signal, before he’s slammed to the floor in one ruthless motion. _Star_ ’s right hand thrusts his head down, the other pressing sharply on his neck.

“ _Did you know—_ ” he growls, eyes dilated and spit trailing down his jaw. “Did you fucking know—you _fucking_ —”

“I don’t—” a punch, “— _fuck—what_ —”

His grip tightens and he snarls, “Bullshit, you _fucking bastard_ —the General’s plans! _The Red Forces!_ Those _goddamned machines, they—_ ”

Minseok hits him in the eye. He staggers back and Jongdae wrenches him off, pushing him in the corner. Minseok coughs hoarsely, and sits up as the two struggle around the compartment. “What _Red Forces?_ ” he yells.

Jongdae’s elbow strikes him in the stomach, and _Star_ hisses, “ _Fuck you_ — _shit!_ ”

“Hey!” he screams. 

“ _The entire city!_ ” the man barks out, livid. “The entire fucking city is made of machines! Those things on the ground, the Red Forces, they’re programmed to hunt and kill Cyclists! All of the people!”

He twists Jongdae’s arm down, and Minseok’s about to jump over when Jongdae growls low in his throat, wringing out his Cycle — Minseok’s breath cuts short and _Star_ flinches back, crowding against the door. The rotorcraft tilts imperceptibly, the air in the compartment losing pressure for only a second. All of a sudden, _Star_ ’s movements stop, and the brace of his body loosens. He narrows his eyes at Jongdae, and Minseok sees something flash past them, a kind of questioning, and recognition.

“I know you.”

Jongdae looks taken aback. He opens his mouth, but it takes him too long to answer— _Star_ goes on: “Your Cycle. I know it. You—you were in _Sector Zero_ with me,” he eyes him up, breath heavy, “you were that kid they—”

He stops abruptly, locking his teeth. Minseok peers closer; Jongdae visibly tenses up.

“Sector Zero—you were there?” he asks dryly. “They slaughtered every of the units.”

A shiver runs up Minseok’s spine. _Star_ ’s eyes lower. “I escaped.”

He pauses. Jongdae’s face screws up. “I don’t… I don’t know if I remember you.”

"But I remember you," _Star_ says. "I dont remember anything else. But I remember _you_."

His gaze moves over to Minseok. _Star_ sees him again, in the nightmare, his blurry figure through the red, standing over him as he bleeds out. Minseok watched him die. He let Chanyeol die. And Kyungsoo. And Jongin. And _Star_ himself as well, surely, with how damaged his voice sounds, how thickly he speaks and moves. How _distraught_ , he simply looks, his stony eyes roaming restlessly, painfully, like a part of his head is missing. Like he's been ripped out and ruined, all of a sudden.

The rotorcraft dives to the side, sending them past the coast. _Star_ pushes himself up and stumbles toward the cot, assembled on the side in the compartment. He carries his body on it, insufferably slow, gravely, all the weight in the world. He lies down, not moving an inch, empty eyes bearing into the ceiling. There’s a grisly shadow on his face, taking shape over his features, deforming, _disfiguring_ , and Minseok is unable to look at him very long.

Jongdae creeps to his side, breathing quietly.

“He looks dead,” Minseok thinks out loud.

“He is, in a way,” he answers. “In the way that matters.”

Minseok leans back against the wall. Jongdae’s presence next to him is almost insensible. The man is watching the sky's light, slipping through the clouds, bleak colours of midday overcast. The side of his face is illuminated with the gleam, green eye shining a thousand colours. He watches, dazed, and in wonderment. For a long time Jongdae gazes out at the sky. He tells him they're going north, west, north again, he doesn't know. He tells him he's been sleeping for so long, but for some reason he still feels so tired. Minseok doesn't say anything.

After some time, Jongdae turns to him. “Do you trust me?” he asks. There's sorrow in his tone, and it doesn't seem like he expects an answer.

A low hum joins the vibrations in the compartment. Jongdae's voice is gentle, melting the harsh noise outside, surrounding them. He doesn't sing, but his _song_ travels regardless, and Minseok feels the Cycle’s waves spread inside the enclosed space. Jongdae drifts off, head resting against his shoulder. Minseok stares out wearily: in the horizon, the city’s skyline blurs with the fog and smoke. Shades of gray darken the crystal of the window; Minseok’s eyes are fixed on the gloomy blend clouding his reflection. As it vanishes, his body disappears. The ache seethes through his head, Jongdae pulling him in. Holding his breath, he closes his eyes, and dreams of a memory.

 

—

 

The moon is bright, and the earth is cool. Kyungsoo shifts to his side, pushing back the blanket on Sehun. A bristling wind enters the building crib, carrying inside it a light footfall. Kyungsoo turns over and peeks, eyes trying to adjust in the dark.

A boy totters over, clutching something in his hands. His figure is blurry, hiding in the dust. Kyungsoo watches him attentively.

“Hey,” he whispers. "What's your name?" 

The boy brings his toy, a little robot, closer to his chest. His hair is brown and his eyes are bright. A thumb brushes over his lips, and he bites on it.

“Kai,” he mutters, almost inaudible.

“Kai,” Kyungsoo says. “I’m Kyungsoo.”

Kai’s head drops and he rubs his cheek against his shoulder. He shuffles closer to the row, avoiding Kyungsoo’s gaze, staying silent.

“Kai,” Kyungsoo calls. “What’s wrong? You can’t sleep?”

He shakes his head faintly. His eyes are slightly glossy with tears, his face withered with fatigue. 

Kyungsoo opens his arms and the boy climbs onto him, shivering like a leaf. He slips under the cover and curls up in a ball, head buried in Kyungsoo's neck. His breath is like ice. Sehun shudders against them, and Kai presses back between their bodies. They lie awake for a while, listening to the wind blow, and the droning in the distance. Kyungsoo smooths his hand over the boy's head.

"Do you want me to sing? I'll sing for you."

Kai doesn't answer, and instead sneaks closer. Kyungsoo clears his throat, trying to remember the music once more. He hums low in his voice, collecting his _song_ 's notes. The crib falls silent. Slowly, a tender melody fills the earth, light and sound, soothing over the chill. Warmth spreads in his body. Kai's hand slips in his, and his eyes flutter closed.

Singing softly, Kyungsoo looks up. The clouds part on the blackness, flowing like a twinkling sea above their heads. He closes his eyes on the midnight sky and sleeps, their breaths amidst the stars.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finally finished this. Thank you all so much for reading with me! And I think the title song goes really well for this last chapter. I've had a whole adventure writing this, and I hope you all enjoyed!! I look forward to write more, so see you guys soon!


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